


Move A Mountain

by ZainClaw



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Biker Gang, Camping, Danny and Stiles are bros, Fluff, M/M, Road Trip, Smut, Stiles got a dog named Yoda, biker!Derek, not necessarily in that order, so are Derek and the twins, summer loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZainClaw/pseuds/ZainClaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic all planned out in my head since early summer 2013 - when my dog ran away during one of our walks and was found flirting with a biker which inspired this whole story. It was meant to be a summer project, and would've been done within a few months if it hadn't been for me having to go on a break when going back to class in the fall, and later around Christmas when launching the Christmas calendar project ([Dances With Wolves](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1065594/chapters/2137591)).
> 
> Anyway – now it's done! And it's without a doubt the best story I've written to date.
> 
> Believe it or not, but I've never been camping (even less in the US) so thanks to [Ked](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com) for being my Obi-Wan and teaching me some of how these things work. If something seems weird it's either a Swedish thing or just me thinking I know stuff I don't.
> 
> Thanks to my friend [Ali](http://youremylittlemichael.tumblr.com) for betaing the first couple chapters before I made a mess and went back to 'rewrite' the damn thing.
> 
> Thanks to [Ty](http://sterekhowla.tumblr.com) – the Derek to my Stiles – for helping me with the final editing and putting up with all my rants and feels.  
> He also drew the cute little mountains for paragraph breakers. I'm so sorry for all the feels this gave you. I love you baby.
> 
> Thanks to EVERYONE who's cheered me on during this crazy ride.
> 
> In case you want visuals, check out [this](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/77796524615) photoset I made on Tumblr!
> 
>  
> 
> FANART: (beware spoilers)
> 
> \- [Fanart by Spider999now](http://spider999now.tumblr.com/post/117929043792/move-a-mountain-by-zainclaw) (chapter 1)  
> \- [Fanart by Takeshii](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/80206993010) (chapter 2)  
> \- [Fanart by Thiliart](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/101533726879) (chapter 3)  
> \- [Manips by Akissforabite](http://akissforabite.tumblr.com/post/85743537704) (epilogue)

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

One of the benefits of bringing your dog along to a camping site, Stiles quickly realizes, is being able to escape the responsibilities of hooking up the RV and insist that you need to walk the dog after being stuck in the car all day.

Lydia shoots him a dirty look as he attaches the leash to Yoda's collar, but doesn't argue. Danny jumps to his feet and jogs after them, claiming he has to stretch his legs as well. Scott and Allison stay to help set up camp because they are good people.

"You know Lydia is going to get back at us for this, right?" Danny points out as he catches up.

"Whatever," Stiles shrugs, twirling the leather leash around his hand with ease. "I drove the damn thing all the way out here. She sat in the back painting her nails and complained about the bumpy road."

"I'm pretty sure she was complaining about the bumpy _ride_ ," Danny states with a huff. "In other words: your driving."

"There's nothing wrong with my driving," Stiles says, offended. He may be used to his Jeep back home, but he's perfectly capable of driving Lydia's RV. "Besides, she could've ridden with Scott and Allison if it bothered her so much."

"Actually she couldn't," Danny reminds him.

_Right_ , Stiles remembers. Because Scott and Allison are what most people would call the perfect couple, but even they have their ups and down. They had broken up twice over the past two years, but they always seem to find their way back to one another. Like magnets. It's pretty fascinating, Stiles admits. And despite it seeming as if things are all good between them this week, they had requested to ride just the two of them in Allison's car.

It had been Lydia's idea, of course, to get the hell out of Beacon Hills right after graduation yesterday. She never said it out loud, but Stiles suspects she'd use any excuse to get away from Jackson. Apparently she thinks spending a week in a campground in New Mexico with limited hygiene and massive amounts of bugs will  help her getting over the break-up. Stiles isn't going to call her out on it. He may never have had a relationship like theirs – or any other kind for that matter – but even he can tell she needs this.

Stiles has gone camping with his dad a few times in the past, but as he and Danny go to explore the site, he finds that it's far bigger than any he's ever been to. It's crowded, too; people everywhere with campers and tents lined up as far as the eye can see. Almost every lot they pass is occupied. Someone brought a big audio system and is blasting R&B music which can be heard over nearly the entire area.

If Stiles' dad had been there he would find the guilty party and charge them for disturbing the peace.

Not far from the big grass fields where people set up their camps is a lake with a white sand beach. There's a cabin down by the water with a worn-out 'RESTAURANT' sign above the door, but Stiles doubts they'll ever eat there. Places like that are usually expensive as hell. The tables on the porch surrounding it look appealing, however, with a volleyball net set up nearby that's already being put to good use.

Stiles lets Yoda have more leeway with the leash when they reach the less crowded outskirts of the grounds. The dog's tongue is hanging out of its mouth, panting excitedly at the heat of his surroundings. He pulls hard enough for Stiles to stumble on the other end of the leash.

"You could probably let him run for a while," Danny suggests, throwing glances over his shoulder. "There's barely anyone he can bother here anyway."

"At least there are no campers for him to pee on," Stiles agrees, because that _is_ a relevant worry. He crouches down to scratch the husky behind the ears before clicking off the leash. "Go ahead, big guy."

Yoda happily trots off to the grass on the side of the path, stopping at a stand of undisturbed trees. Stiles straightens up with a sigh, digging his hands into the pockets of his shorts and smiling at the obvious euphoria in his dog's expression. He'd considered leaving him at home, because he was worried that the long drive would be too much for the dog to cope with. Leaving him alone with his dad for a week would probably have been an even worse idea though, so in the end he'd brought him along.

They keep on walking; Stiles and Danny on the path and Yoda keeping a decent distance to their left. Stiles almost feels like letting his own tongue hang out of his mouth because the sun is so hot, much hotter than back home. He grabs the hem of his shirt and flaps it in an attempt to cool himself down. Danny doesn't look as bothered by the heat, but that's only because he's wearing a tank top and swim trunks compared to Stiles' jeans and t-shirt. Besides, he's from Hawaii. Stiles is convinced it's in his genes to withstand these kind of temperatures.

They're just about to turn around and head back to their campsite when Yoda's head shoots up high in the air, perking his ears, and in the next instant is running straight for the hedgerow outlining one of the camp fields.

"Fuck," Stiles groans before setting off after him. "Yoda! Come here!"

His father is constantly reminding him that the dog needs more training and discipline so he'll stop ignoring commands and running off, and Stiles can practically hear him sighing heavily while muttering 'I told you so'.

Despite having done both lacrosse and cross-country in high school, Stiles still doesn't stand a chance at catching up with the sprinting dog. Stiles can see his wavy tail disappear in the bushes and moans at the thought of all the trouble he could cause on the other side. Maybe someone brought a cat or opened a container of food. Damn dogs and their instincts.

Stiles holds his arms up in front of him while running through the hedge, but still gets slapped in the face by twigs. He swears under his breath and prays for Yoda not to be too far away on the other side.

He isn't.

He's sitting wagging his tail only a few feet from where Stiles comes to an abrupt stop. Four heavily packed motorcycles are parked to his right, taking up a whole lot on their own. On the campsite next to them, which Stiles just stumbled onto, is a large blue tent.

A man is crouching in front of the tent with both hands busy scratching Yoda's neck. He's dressed all in black; tight pants and a leather jacket. It matches the colour of his hair and the five o'clock shadow that really shouldn't be as attractive as it is. The guy looks up when Stiles appears, which has Stiles nearly falling over when coming to a sudden stop. The sun reflects like a mirror on his sunglasses, but the all-teeth smile he gives Stiles is even more blinding.

"You named your dog Yoda?"

"Uh," Stiles says dumbly, managing to chuckle and scratch the back of his neck. "Yeah."

The man nods, closing his mouth but keeps the smile as he turns his attention back to the dog.

"I shouldn't have let him loose," Stiles starts to apologize, more out of habit than anything else, because the guy doesn't look half as furious as most people Yoda has troubled in the past. "I'm sorry."

The guy huffs. "Don't worry about it," he says simply. "I don't mind." He gives Yoda a final clap on the back before straightening up, and Stiles does his best not to stare all over the body covered in leather right in front of him. He looks at Stiles again, and Stiles wishes he could see past those dark sunglasses. "Husky, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, fidgeting with the leash in his hands. "Well, for the most part anyway. There's probably something else in there too because he's way too lovesick to be pure husky."

He claps his hands on his thighs as the guy huffs again, which is a sound that _really_ shouldn't make Stiles' stomach twist the way it does. He manages to catch Yoda's attention who walks back to his rightful owner and dutifully lets him put the leash back on. Stiles lets out a breath of relief. This could've ended a lot worse.

When Stiles lifts his head up again, the man is looking directly at him. At least he _thinks_ so; it's difficult to tell due to the dark shades covering his eyes. Stiles immediately wishes he'd at least changed into another shirt than the one he's been sweating in the whole drive there. His face is probably flushed from both the heat and the running, and he doesn't even want to think about what his hair looks like. Not that it matters. Even on a good day he would never compare to the man standing in front of him.

Stiles swallows, rearranging the leash in his hand, and is just about to turn back around and leave the poor guy alone when he speaks; a weak smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm Derek."

"Stiles," he responds in a heartbeat.

The guy – Derek – does something incredible with one of his eyebrow, arching it in disbelief. "Really?"

"Well, no," Stiles admits. "But my real name is better left unsaid."

Derek snorts. "If you say so."

"Perhaps he's a fugitive," says a voice from inside the tent, and then another guy appears. He's got blond curly hair and a sharp jaw, looking both smaller and younger than Derek, but turns out to be several inches taller once he comes to stand next to him. Even he's wearing leather, and Stiles suspects he just met another owner to one of those bikes.

"I'm not," Stiles assures with a scoff. "My dad's a sheriff back home."

"Which is where?" Derek asks as the other guy smirks.

"Beacon Hills, California."

Danny comes bursting in through the bushes then and nearly collides with Stiles who throws an arm out to steady him. "Oh," he says breathlessly, looking between all three of them and then down at Yoda currently sitting at Stiles' feet. "I see you found the wolf."

"And two more," Derek says with a sly smile that makes Stiles' heart skip a beat. He claps the tall guy on the back. "This is Isaac. I'm Derek," he adds, nodding to Danny.

"Right," Danny says, glancing at Stiles with a wondering expression before introducing himself in return. Stiles can't blame him. It's not like it's one of his specialties to run into hot guys and start a conversation.

"California, huh?" Derek says then, cocking an eyebrow when he turns his head in Stiles' direction.

"Yeah. We just graduated. Figured sleeping with bugs for a week would be the best way to celebrate."

Isaac laughs and Derek sneers. Stiles feels his stomach flip at the sight of Derek's perfectly aligned teeth. His canines are pointier than the rest. Just like an animal's.

"We're heading there, actually."

"Road trip?" Stiles asks, even though it's obvious.

Derek lifts both eyebrows and gestures toward the bikes, which is answer enough. "Started in New York and have been following Route 66 from Chicago. Los Angeles is our finish line."

"Wow," Danny whistles appreciatively. "How long have you guys been out?"

"A little over a week," Derek answers.

"That's pretty long, isn't it?" Stiles remarks. "And not be there yet, I mean. I think I've heard Route 66 takes less than a week to drive all the way."

Derek's lips twitch. "We're not in a hurry."

"Obviously," Stiles agrees. "Since you're here, I mean. It would've saved you a lot of time staying at the motels along the road."

"We like detours," Derek shrugs simply.

"And how long will you stay here then?" Danny wonders, clearly picking up on the fact that these guys don't seem to mind chatting.

"Not long," Isaac sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"A week," Derek declares.

Isaac gives his friend a strange look at that, one that either goes unnoticed or ignored by Derek.

"Right. A week," he agrees absently.

Stiles doesn't have time to dwell on it before two more guys come walking around the tent to join them, wearing the same face as well as jackets.

"Am I seeing double?" Danny asks, blinking.

The two new guys laugh as they move to stand on Derek's left. It's almost hilarious how they merge into a perfect line in front of them. Stiles half expect a camera to flash somewhere because this could easily be a supermodel photo shoot for a commercial aiming to sell leather jackets.

Stiles would buy one.

"It's called _twins_ ," one of them offers, winking at Danny who chuckles and awkwardly rearranges his footing. "Where are the others?" The same one asks when turning to Derek.

"How am I supposed to know?" Derek shrugs.

"Boyd and Erica ran off as soon as we got here," Isaac says, the corner of his lips twitching as he raises an eyebrow suggestively. "You really want to know what they're up to?"

The twin pulls a face and waves with his hands in the air, as if trying to shoo off the picture Isaac put in his head. Stiles wants to ask, but catches himself. He knows this is none of his business, and as curious as he is about the biker gang that apparently only consists of people too good-looking for their own good, they could probably manage without a nosy teenager. Or two.

"Well," he says, earning everyone's attention again. "We better go. Our friends might wonder where we wandered off to." The group mumbles in understanding, and Stiles nods to Derek with what he hopes to be a thankful smile. "Thanks for catching my dog."

"No problem," Derek says, voice low. "I guess I'll see you around."

As they turn to walk away, Stiles can't decide whether he hopes to run into them more than once this week, or never again.

 

 

 

 

"Why don't you just go ask for his number?"

"No one does that anymore, Scott. You just stalk people on Facebook."

"So find him on Facebook."

Stiles sighs dramatically. "I don't want to stalk him on Facebook," he complains, and he realizes he sounds like a whining child but he can't bother to care. He's quiet for a moment before mumbling thoughtfully: "He's probably got like a thousand stalkers on Facebook."

It's stupid.

It's stupid that he hasn't been able to get this Derek guy out of his head for the last hour. It's stupid, because he hasn't even seen his damn face properly and yet he can't help picturing what his eyes might look like. It's stupid how he's been obvious enough about his inner crisis for his friends to figure out exactly what's going on.

Scott and the girls had already made themselves at home by the time Stiles and Danny got back, and now they're having a barbecue; gathered around the small table under the awning. Lydia had insisted on dragging a coal grill along and right now Stiles almost feels like kissing her for being so persistent about it. Still; he's barely eaten half of his chicken, and keeps absently throwing small pieces to Yoda, who's on lockdown by the door of their RV, sitting as close to him as the leash would allow.

"He's probably a jerk," Scott offers like a good best friend and Stiles smiles thankfully.

"Except he didn't act like a jerk," Danny butts in. "He liked your dog."

"Not helping," Stiles mutters. His sour mood returns full force.

"He's just a guy," Lydia says pointedly, picking at her chicken. "You'll get over him."

Stiles wonders who she's talking to; him or herself.

He _does_ forget about Derek eventually, when they start arguing about who sleeps where. The first thing they all agree on is putting Danny on the couch, because he's been known to snore and no one wants him in the bedroom. (Stiles totally makes an inappropriate joke about that.)

It lasts for almost half an hour.

They all turn their heads at the sound of heavy metal thunder and noisy engines approaching, and suddenly, there he is. Except he isn't alone; all four bikes come rumbling on a line heading for the exit of the campground.

Derek's in the lead, still wearing sunglasses despite the sun about to set behind the mountains. He isn't wearing a helmet, the smooth wind ruffling his hair even while driving at a slow pace. Behind him sits a woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks around the same age as Derek, and her arms are comfortably wrapped around his waist as she rests her chin on his shoulder.

Stiles' heart sinks like a stone.

He should've known a guy like that had a girlfriend. It should've been _obvious_. And why does he _care?_

On the second bike nearest to Derek is the tall blond guy – Isaac – with his hair dancing in the wind. The third bike currently holds two unfamiliar people; a broad shouldered black man and a beautiful blonde. The last bikes are the two twins, and Stiles sees Danny shift on his feet in the corner of his eye as they roll by.

For a moment Stiles hopes they've changed their plans and decided to leave tonight already, but the saddlebags have been removed; probably left behind at their campsite along with their helmets. They are most likely only out and about for a joy ride while the sun sets.

That thought sounds about as appealing to Stiles as eating curly fries. And Stiles loves his curly fries.

Once the biker gang is out of sight, the sound of their loud engines fading off into the distance, Stiles turns to find all the others looking at each other in some weird kind of silence. He can practically read the _awe_ in their eyes and it makes his stomach twist. He can tell they are all gonna stop claiming he was exaggerating when telling them how unfairly attractive the gang leader is from now on. How attractive the _whole gang_ is, actually.

"Well, Stiles," Lydia says eventually, breaking the silence and walking over to put a hand on his shoulder. "Not gonna lie. _That_ may take a while to get over."

He's had stupid crushes in the past, of course, and no matter how impossible it feels to ever get over them, to convince himself that they are just pretty faces, he _had_ gotten over them eventually. He'd gotten over _Lydia_ , for Christ's sake. The number of _years_ it took doesn't matter.

He will get over Derek, too. But it will definitely take more than a few days.

This whole week just got ruined.


	2. Sunday

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

Stiles can barely remember a time when he  _didn't_  have trouble sleeping. He knows it hadn't been a problem when he was younger, before his mother died, but these days it's hard to picture himself ever getting up in the morning feeling well rested or starting his day without his much needed dose of Adderall and caffeine.

It had been a stupid call to give him the top bunk in the back of the RV since he always got up much earlier than the others. Somehow he manages to slide his feet down to the floor without waking Lydia who's sleeping soundly in the bed under him. He glances over at the bunk bed on the opposite side and isn't the slightest bit surprised to find the top one empty with both Allison and Scott squeezed together in the bottom one. He shakes his head to himself, smile tugging at his lips as he sneaks out of the small bedroom.

Yoda's lying on the carpet in the tiny corridor, his ears twitching before he bolts up at the sound of Stiles approaching. Stiles shushes quietly for the dog not to start making noises and wake up Danny who's currently snoring away on the couch. He reaches out a hand for Yoda to lick for a moment to calm his excitement somehow before starting to look for his running shorts.

The campground feels like a completely different place before the sun is up. It's quiet; no one playing loud music or children splashing in the water. Not many are up yet, only a handful of people moving around the building with the public bathrooms and showers. The beach is nearly deserted, only a few couples sitting in the sand looking out over the lake. A volleyball lies forgotten by the foot of the net.

Stiles walks to the outskirts of the campground before he picks up his pace to a jog, Yoda keeping up at his side with the leash hanging slack between them. They find a trail that edges around the lake and winds up to higher ground, the grass turning yellow and sun-burnt and the trees appearing less frequently as they go.

The sun's just peeking over the mountain when they reach the top of a small hill, making the surface of the lake sparkle in the morning light. Stiles stops to look at it, catching his breath and feeling the warmth touch his face. Hawks are soaring high over his head, their loud calls echoing over the valley. Yoda snarls at them before accepting the fact that they are forever out of his reach and goes back to sniffing the dusty ground.

Stiles gazes across the lake at the campground's beach on the other side with an uneasy feeling settling low in his gut – aggressively trying to dissipate the image of a guy dressed in leather and sunglasses from his mind. Because unfortunately he hasn't forgotten about Derek from yesterday, despite his best efforts to occupy himself last night.

He'd tried to think of literally _anything_ other than the guy who broke every rule in Stiles' book of what he's always assumed was his type. (If having a type is even a thing, but he's set on proving Jackson's opinion on that wrong.) He still hasn't seen Derek since the gang left the campground last night, but he knows they'll most likely run into each other again one of the following days.

Yesterday the campground had seemed too big. Today it's not big enough.

Stiles really doesn't need this; doesn't need to start obsessing over yet another person who is way out of his league. His crush on Lydia had been painful enough, and that had lasted for more than _ten years_. It had been a huge relief once they actually became friends and it turned out that the picture he'd drawn of her in his wild imaginations had been proved to be all kinds of wrong. He's over it now, thank god, and he wouldn't want to change their friendship for anything in the world.

Lydia needed to get away from Beacon Hills to get over Jackson, to leave everything behind for a while and then start anew. So do Scott and Allison. After all the drama they've been through over the past two years together, they figured a vacation would be good for their relationship. Danny broke up with his boyfriend a long time ago, so while he's neither recently dumped or in need of couple therapy, he could use a break too. Jackson and he used to be best friends – for reasons Stiles will never understand because the guy is a complete asshole – but when Jackson and Lydia broke up Danny chose to comfort her rather than agree with Jackson, hence their argument that finally broke them off.

They all need a fresh start for good reasons, but Stiles is pretty sure _he_ needs it too.

This was supposed to be a vacation to celebrate their new freedom – the start of their lives after high school – and he shouldn't spend it walking around daydreaming about a guy who's probably spooning his girlfriend in a tent somewhere at this very moment. Just the thought of it makes Stiles' stomach knot.

Yoda yanks hard on the leash, eager to keep going, and Stiles tears his eyes away and continues solemnly along the path.

 

 

 

 

The campground is livelier when he comes back nearly an hour later, but he's still able to take a shower all by himself. Even if he's used to sharing the locker room with the whole team after lacrosse practice, he's thankful for that because he's not overly confident about his body. It used to be worse; before he started to gain some muscle to his otherwise lanky arms and shoulders, but after continuously being compared to Danny or Jackson or even _Scott_ he'd just accepted the fact that some dudes are simply born with impressive cheekbones or adorable dimples and he's… well, _not_.

Scott's sitting by the table outside the RV when Stiles returns to their lot with his hair still dripping and dressed in a fresh change of clothing. Yoda's chewing on something that had once resembled Stiles' shoe and wagging his tail at Stiles approaching, not even bothering to stop and look at him.

"I made coffee."

Stiles makes a happy noise, taking the proffered cup from Scott's hand. "Have I ever told you I love you?"

Scott beams, sinking back in his chair with a warm sigh. "We don't have much of anything else though. We need to go shopping or we'll starve."

"I can do it," Stiles volunteers after swallowing a big gulp of hot coffee. "There's a grocery store just up the road. I saw it when we pulled in yesterday."

Scott nods in reply, bringing back his own cup to his lips.

Danny comes to join them and a while later even Lydia, both of them already dressed and looking anything but just-rolled-out-of-bed. Stiles has no clue how they do it. Allison is the only one who appears with tousled hair when she eventually wakes up, and when she joins them outside and insists on sitting in Scott's lap, Stiles takes that as his cue to leave.

"Watch him for me, will you?" He asks of them, nodding toward the by-now resting husky.

"Watch him we will," Allison replies with a grin, throwing him her car keys.

Stiles catches them as well as the confused look on Scott's face before he turns away, hiding a smile and smothering a laugh with a cough.

"Oh my god, Scott," he hears Danny say behind him. " _Still?_ "

 

 

 

 

Stiles deserves a freaking medal, honest to God.

He'd managed to find bread and several types of fillings to put Danny's pie iron to good use, as well as a pack of burgers and salad for later meals, all of this without giving the leader of a specific biker gang a single thought since he entered the grocery store.

Of course that's when said biker decides now is the perfect time to show up right in front of him.

Derek's standing with his back facing Stiles less than ten feet away, browsing the frozen dinners on the shelf, but Stiles recognizes him immediately. He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, with the new addition of leather gloves. One hand is casually holding a helmet whilst the other a shopping basket in which Stiles can see chicken and burgers and various types of meat. The only thing missing from yesterday, he realize, are the sunglasses.

Part of him wants to be angry, turn on his heel and keep up with his plan to completely avoid this guy for the rest of the week. Then there is the other part of him – which Stiles knew deep down would win – that can't help but slowly walk closer to where Derek is standing.

"You guys hungry or something?"

Derek turns his head when Stiles comes to stand beside him, hazel eyes framed by wrinkles as his face lights up with his grin meeting his gaze.

"Like a pack of wolves."

Stiles scoffs, staring just a moment too long at his mouth. "Funny. My friend Lydia called you guys a wolf pack only yesterday."

"Because we attract huskies?" Derek suggests, cocking one of his annoyingly attractive eyebrows.

"I think it was the way you all rode in formation," Stiles says. "Like in order of ranks or something."

Derek agrees with a huff. "Sounds about right. Alpha pair in the front and pups in the back, right?"

"Right," Stiles agrees quietly.

A few seconds pass by with Derek just looking at him, a small relaxed smile resting on his lips.

Stiles doesn't hesitate to take in Derek's everything. His skin shines a lot paler in the white fluorescents above and Stiles can only guess that he resembles a ghost himself. At least he'd showered and put on a shirt that wasn't all torn out. Not that it evened them out in any way, but still.

For a split second he thinks he sees Derek's pupils dilate, but he moves to his left and glances away before Stiles has a chance to verify his thought.

"Are you staying in a tent or camper?" He asks over his shoulder, walking toward the checkout lane, and only an idiot wouldn't take that as an invitation to follow.

"I drove the RV out here," Stiles replies, falling into step at his side. "Lydia could never stand living in a tent. I'm actually surprised she's even okay with the RV. It's far from her standards."

Derek hums beside him. "How many are you?"

"Five." A pause. "Well, six."

Derek throws him a sneer. "Yoda?"

"Yeah," Stiles nods, swallowing hard when Derek looks his way again.

Silence falls between them as they walk on. Stiles can't help but wonder what they might look like to the people passing by; if they come across as friends or two strangers who just ran into each other.

He starts talking because this kind of silence makes his skin crawl.

They walk by a stand of pineapples and he rapidly explains how Scott's allergic as well as an asthmatic, which was why he never made the cut for first line on the lacrosse team. A bag of salty chips on a shelf makes him think about the time he tried keeping his dad on a healthy diet and bets a hundred bucks on him eating all kinds of junk food now that Stiles is away. They get in line for the checkout, and he says he will never go shopping with Lydia ever again because he's horribly impatient and can't stand waiting in line for too long.

Derek throws him the occasional glances and little half smiles as he listens to Stiles' rambling. He doesn't say much, but he doesn't seem to  _mind_  either which is entirely unexpected. Stiles keeps waiting for a 'shut up' that never comes.

He follows Derek outside to where his bike is leaning on its kickstand, and Stiles mentally smacks himself because how could he possibly have missed it when arriving earlier is just beyond comprehension.

"So, what kind of bike is this?" He asks as Derek starts loading the saddlebags with groceries.

Derek raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "A Harley Night Rod."

"Cool," Stiles nods and fidgets with his own bags.

Derek's mouth twitches. "That doesn't mean anything to you at all, does it?"

"Nope," Stiles says. "I don't know shit about bikes. Except my dad tells me that people who drive Harleys are usually older men."

Derek scoffs and closes the saddlebag. "I'm not that old."

Just as Stiles is about to ask just  _how_  old he is, his stomach interrupts with a loud rumble.

"Sounds like not only the wolves are hungry," Derek remarks, looking amused.

Stiles chuckles, embarrassed. "Ah, sorry about that. We haven't had breakfast yet. The only thing keeping me going right now is the coffee I had after my morning run."

Derek graciously slings a leg over his bike, straddling it and providing Stiles with a great view of his ass in tight black pants. He sits back, holding the helmet in front of him with both hands while looking at Stiles.

"You run?"

"Yeah," Stiles shrugs. "Decent way for both me and Yoda to get rid of our boat load of energy."

Derek huffs and dips his head down to fumble with the helmet. "I've thought about picking up on that while I'm here, too," he says, glancing up at him through his lashes. "I just don't have a route yet."

"I found a trail around the lake this morning," Stiles blurts out. "It was great."

"Yeah?" Derek puts the helmet on and gives him a sly smile. "Maybe you can show me sometime this week."

Then he pulls down the lid with a familiar flick of his hand and starts the engine.

As Stiles watches him drive off, heading back to the campground, he feels a tingle of hope in his gut. He's not sure exactly  _what_  he's hoping for, but either way he's got a feeling it won't end well.

 

 

 

 

Later that day, when Stiles had finally returned to camp and been greeted like a hero for not letting them starve, Scott and Stiles are hanging out under the awning, seeking shelter from the blazing sun while the girls move their chairs to basically thrive in it. It isn't as hot as yesterday, but Lydia and Allison have both changed into their bikinis. Music from the restaurant down on the beach thrums through the camp, as if the owners want to prove to the party from yesterday who's in charge.

"You could use some sun," Lydia remarks offhandedly, her eyes closed against the sun. "You're so pale."

"I like being pale," Stiles counters. "It's part of my charm."

Lydia snorts, but he can see the corners of her mouth twitch, as if she can't argue with that. "You could still use the endorphins," she mutters.

Danny appears with a towel around his neck, the sun nearly casting shadows around his dimples.

"That was a long shower," Stiles points out curiously, lifting an eyebrow at him. "You've been gone for like an hour."

Danny sinks down in the chair next to Stiles with a deep sigh, not seeming to mind having the sun in his eyes. He shrugs and gives a cheeky grin, confessing: "I ran into one of the twins at the showers."

"Oh god," Stiles gasps. "Give me all the details."

"Don't you dare," Lydia warns sternly. Stiles can practically hear her pointing her finger at them viciously, but doesn't look away from Danny.

"Nothing happened, you perverts," Danny declares. "We just... talked."

Scott frowns. "You don't talk in the showers. It's weird."

"It wasn't  _in_ – Whatever," he sighs. "Anyways, his name is Ethan."

"Was he the one winking at you yesterday?" Stiles asks.

Danny shifts in his chair. "Yes."

"So what did you guys talk about?" Allison urges on.

"Actually, he asked if we wanted to come and join them for dinner in about an hour at their camp."

Stiles gets an aching feeling in his stomach and notices the others looking at him oddly.

"That's a bad idea," he says, pursing his lips.

Danny's mouth pulls up in a twisted smile. "It was Derek's idea."

"Even worse."

The ignore-Derek plan is going so well, isn't it?

"Oh, come on," Lydia sighs dramatically. "Cheer up. The  _least_  you can do is appreciate the view for a week. I know  _I_  intend to." Stiles must've let his annoyance shine through because she waves a reassuring hand at him. "Not Derek. He's all yours, sweetie."

"Who then?" Allison asks.

Lydia cranes her neck to look at Danny. "What's the twin's name? The one  _not_  walking around winking at boys in the public showers, obviously."

Danny looks as if he's about to argue but gives up easily with a sigh. "Aiden."

Lydia gestures toward Danny in response to Allison's question.

 

 

 

 

Stiles considers briefly leaving Yoda in the RV, but figures the other bikers will hopefully like dogs as much as their leader, and brings him along. Besides, they never would've run into each other if it hadn't been for him. Stiles hasn't decided if he deserves a treat for that yet.

He and Danny take the lead and guide the others through the campground along the path they had walked Yoda on yesterday. The music from the beach fades behind them and they can hear rock music becoming louder ahead of them as they approach. They don't go through a hedgerow to find their campsite though, but instead take a turn in between the rows of camp lots in search of their blue tent.

They spot the bikes before they recognize the tent, and Stiles' heart skips a beat when he immediately can pick out Derek's Harley among them.

A herd of people swarm the campsite, most likely the rest of the bikers from last night, but none of them is wearing leather. The dark-haired woman who was sitting on the back of Derek's bike strides over to meet them, her hair no longer trapped in a ponytail but instead fanned out in waves around her and a beaming smile on her face. Stiles hates to admit that she's really beautiful.

"You must be Stiles and Danny," she says, looking between the two of them. She looks down at Yoda and drops to her knees. "And you're the infamous Yoda, aren't you?" Her voice gets all high-pitch, like how people talk to babies, and holds up a hand for the dog to sniff. Yoda explores her scent for barely two seconds before rapidly licking her knuckles. She laughs, standing back up. "I'm sorry," she hurries to say. "I just really love dogs. Especially huskies." She offers Stiles the hand _not_ currently soaked in dog saliva. "I'm Laura. Derek's sister."

It takes Stiles longer than he cares to admit for the last word to sink in, and once it does, he feels like an idiot for not seeing it right away. The resemblance is striking; same eyes, same blinding smile. He reaches out to shake her outstretched hand.

"Right. Yeah. Hi."

Scott pokes him encouragingly in the side as Laura happily pushes them toward their camp. Stiles ignores it in favor of taking in the scenery before him.

There's a second orange tent set up next to the blue one, but Stiles still has trouble understanding how they could all share such a tiny space. One of those wooden camp tables with attached benches has been placed between the tents and the bikes with an old stereo – a freaking  _boom box – on_ top of it, and Stiles realizes that's where the rock music had been coming from. It's the kind that only plays radio and cassette tapes, and he hasn't seen one of those in years.

Derek's sitting with his back resting against the edge of the table, one leg crossed over the other. The sunglasses are back but the leather jacket is for once missing. The white tank top he's wearing reveals his muscular arms and hugs the rest of his upper body tightly enough to leave little to Stiles' imagination. He has his head tipped back toward the sun, but lowers his chin when Stiles and company approach.

"Seriously?" Stiles arches an eyebrow at him, nodding to the stereo. "How old are you?"

The guy huffs – which by now is a sound that's practically ingrained in Stiles' brain.

"He drags that thing everywhere," Laura says, rolling her eyes. "A lost cause, really."

"I half expected you to come running through the bushes, to be honest," Derek says, smirking at Stiles and clearly ignoring his sister.

Stiles chuckles. "Nah, I figured we'd be decent people this time."

"No need," Derek says. "You're among wolves now, remember?"

Laura taps Allison and Scott on the shoulder. "Why don't you two go and help Isaac?" She hooks a thumb over her shoulder to the trees behind her. "He found a campfire further up and could probably use some help carrying the food."

"Sure," Allison nods, smiling sweetly and tugging at Scott's arm to drag him along.

Yoda pulls on the leash, eagerly trying to get closer to Derek. Stiles hesitates, throwing glances around for other dogs or other things he could run off to play with.

"You can bind him to the table," Derek suggests, shuffling a little to the side as if to make room.

Stiles nods gratefully and comes close enough for Yoda to put his head in Derek's lap, crouching down to start tying the end of the leash around one of the planks under the table. Derek's hands reach down to scratch the dog behind his ears, trailing his fingers to his neck to trace over the collar. Stiles can smell his deodorant from where he's sitting.

"And I assume you had this table in your saddlebags?" He says sarcastically and straightens up.

"We borrowed it," Ethan (Aiden?) says casually, coming to sit down on the opposite bench.

Laura gestures to Lydia and Danny. "Please take a seat." She gives Derek a sharp look, nodding to the boom box on the table. "Put that thing away."

Derek looks up at her for a moment without showing any sign of obeying, hands still petting Yoda. Then he tilts his head and twitches his eyebrows in a defeating way and gets up to reluctantly remove the giant, out-dated stereo off the table and place it on the ground by the tents. It never stops playing.

It occurs to Stiles then that Laura is the big sister.

The two people Stiles has yet to meet come walking over from the bikes to join them. They are holding hands and look so incredibly comfortable and relaxed with each other, as if they've been together forever. Stiles may have to take back the 'perfect couple' title card from Scott and Allison.

The pretty blonde is wearing jeans shorts and a white top, hair glistening in the sun. She presents herself as Erica, and if there hadn't been a whole pack of other good-looking people around, Stiles probably would've fallen just a little bit in love. Her enormous boyfriend is dressed in a sleeveless shirt, but compared to Derek his muscles makes him look more intimidating than inviting. He says his name is Vernon but adamantly insists on being called Boyd. Stiles likes the guy already.

Scott and Allison eventually reappear with Isaac in tow, wearing the same cocky attitude as yesterday.  The leather jacket has been swapped for a simple shirt with long sleeves and swim trunks. They are carrying four big plates of grilled meat; the ones Stiles had seen in Derek's cart this morning. It makes him wonder if he'd planned on inviting them over before they bumped into each other at the store.

Naturally, not all of them can fit around the table. Allison offers to go get their own chairs from their campsite and Isaac says he's seen another table not far from where they are. Laura averts both ideas; Allison's with a smile and Isaac's with a glare, and says some of them could stand or sit on the ground. No one should have to go fetch or steal anything.

Stiles ends up squeezed in between Scott and Laura on one of the benches. Danny and Ethan are the only ones who'll volunteered to stand with plates in their hands whereas Lydia, Aiden, Isaac and Derek take up the other bench. Boyd and Erica are sat down in the grass next to the table without even attempting to argue.

Laura is nice and fierce; acting like a big sister to all of them. Derek calling the two of them the Alpha pair earlier immediately makes perfect sense.

"It was nice of you to invite us over," Danny says in the middle of the meal.

"Our pleasure," Laura assures him, smiling bright. "We might look all tough but we're really just a bunch of lovesick puppies. We love surrounding ourselves with people."

Derek snorts into his beer bottle but Laura ignores him.

The gang tells them how they all got together back in New York. Apparently Derek and Laura run a garage there where he is a mechanic and she runs the books. Boyd had walked in one day looking for a new filter to his Harley and he and Derek had kept talking for hours after closing. He'd brought his girlfriend along to the shop a few days later, whom Laura clicked with instantly, and the two of them had been around ever since.

Isaac was a kid who ran away from home whom Derek had found roaming the streets one night. He'd started helping out in the garage in exchange for a place to stay and had proven to be a natural talent when it came to taking things apart. Derek had gotten him his first bike for his 18th birthday. No one tells them the reason he left home, and none of them asks.

The twins had been part of another biker crew in the past – or _pack_ as Laura kept insisting on calling them – before their leader had caused Ethan to crash his bike and end up in the hospital. They came to Derek's shop to get it repaired one day and haven't left since.

"You never did fix that bike," Ethan shoots across the table at Derek. "It's been five months!"

"I'm working on it," Derek states simply.

"I think he's  _intentionally_  working slow," Laura cuts in. "Just so you can't start racing again."

"Believe me, I'm done with street racing," Ethan assures her, sharing a significant look with his brother. "It's dangerous and nearly cost me my life. I'm not suicidal."

"Is that why your bike is more, um,  _sporty_  than the others?" Scott asks, genuinely curious.

Aiden nods, looking amused. "It's an Augusta. Our old crew all got bikes like that."

"But none of you guys race?" Allison wonders.

They all shake their heads, food in their mouths.

"One," Boyd says eventually, first one to swallow, holding up a finger. "Racing on motorcycles is some stupid bullshit. It's even more dangerous than doing it with cars. And two–"

"You don't race with Harleys," Erica finishes.

Boyd uses the two fingers he's been holding up to brush through her hair.

In turn, Stiles' friends talk about how they grew up together in Beacon Hills, how Stiles and Scott have been best friends since Kindergarten, and how Allison was new in town their sophomore year when she and Scott had fallen for each other like the couple in a cheesy romantic comedy. They told about all the times time Lydia had corrected their math and physics teacher to the point the poor guy probably cried in relief when she finally graduated, and of how Stiles and Danny had known about each other's existence for years but only bonded when they both made first line in lacrosse.

Yoda lies underneath the table throughout the meal, hoping for someone to drop some food. He even throws himself at the salad Aiden not-so-accidentally lets slide off his plate.

Stiles thinks he sees Derek watching him more than once during dinner, but it might just be his imagination. It's impossible to tell because of the dark glasses he's once again hiding behind.

Isaac keeps glancing up at Allison across the table, and Stiles notices Scott looking at him in return. He wraps his arm around his girlfriend's waist, as if to clear up that she was off the market, but it doesn't stop Isaac from looking at them, and for some reason Scott doesn't appear to be enough upset about it. He'd been way more possessive in the past when Jackson came too close, and Stiles has a hard time figuring out exactly what's going on.

 

 

 

 

Stiles can't honestly say how it happened, but the time must've gotten ahead of them, because suddenly the sun is hanging low in the sky and the camp has gone quiet and settled once again. They finished eating a long time ago, empty plates and beer bottles now scattered about the table. Derek's boom box must've reached the end of its tape because it's gone quiet without Stiles really noticing.

"We're going to miss the sunset," Aiden says, craning his neck to get a good look at the sun.

"We have guests," Erica reminds him. "There's no need to ride out tonight."

"Here's an idea," Laura chirps, standing up. "Why don't you take some of our new friends with you?"

Stiles' heart rate speeds up and his palms grow sweaty.

"But we've only got four bikes," Aiden absently points out, glancing around them. "And twelve of us."

Wow. A real math genius you found yourself there, Lydia.

"I'm good," Laura waves her hand. "I'd rather just hang out here. Someone else can take my spot." Her eyes linger on Stiles' for a fraction of a second. "I can watch Yoda," she adds with a shrug.

"I'll stay too," Boyd announces, nodding to Ethan while fishing into his pockets before tossing him a set of keys. "You can take my ride."

Ethan only spends a short moment sulking over having to ride Boyd's Harley before sighing and giving his friend a thankful nod, asking Danny if he wants to join him. It's ridiculous how endearing Danny's smile for response is; dimples looking deeper than ever before. Unsurprisingly, Aiden turns to Lydia to ask her to ride with him. She accepts before he even gets the question out of his mouth.

Isaac carefully asks Allison if she wants ride with him. She looks puzzled and a bit unsure, looking to her boyfriend for confirmation. Scott says it's okay, nodding to Isaac, but his face is a bit harder than usual. At least Isaac has the decency to thank him for lending him his girlfriend, but Stiles still frowns at the whole thing.

Derek gets up from the table when everyone else makes to leave. He walks over to the tent, crouching down and reaching inside to pull out his leather jacket. He brushes past Stiles when he heads for his bike, a warm presence touching the back of Stiles' neck that makes his hair rise in a shiver.

"You're riding with me," he says, his voice a low rumble.

Stiles almost pinches himself because this has _got_ to be a dream.

The air's still warm, but the gang promises they'll be happy to be wearing leather against the wind once they're out riding, even if they aren't planning on going very fast. Laura and Erica let the girls borrow theirs and Boyd lends his to Danny.

Derek has already straddled the bike when Stiles manages to make his way over to him, legs a bit shaky. He holds up his own leather jacket toward Stiles.

"What about you?" Stiles asks.

He shrugs. "I'll manage. Wolves are warm-blooded."

Stiles scoffs, taking the jacket from Derek's outstretched hand. It smells of sun and smoke, and something that is probably just the pure scent of Derek himself. His heart beats fast and he's sure he blushes when putting it on.

Around him Danny and the girls climb onto the bikes as the sound of rumbling engines breaks the silence. Derek clutches the gas and the Harley comes to life beneath him. He sits back, looking at Stiles and patiently waits until realization finally snaps him out of it.

Right. He's supposed to climb aboard, too.

He steps up to the side of the bike and places a hesitant hand on Derek's bare shoulder for balance before stepping up on the footrest to sling his leg across the seat. He suddenly recalls that he's never touched Derek before. His skin is hot from all the hours in the sun, muscles flexing under Stiles' touch from keeping the bike steady under the added weight. Stiles withdraws his hand as soon as he's sitting properly on the backseat, not sure just how okay Derek is with any kind of touching during the ride at all, even if it is to prevent Stiles from falling off.

"You better hold on," Derek says, as if he read Stiles' thoughts. He turns his head slightly to the side, glancing at him over his shoulder. "I don't want to get in trouble if you get hurt."

"Good idea," Stiles manages to say, having to raise his voice in order to be heard over the loud engine. "My dad might press charges. Did I mention he's a sheriff?"

"Maybe we should call this off. "

"No way!" Stiles shouts incredulously.

Derek huffs, the sound sending a vibration through his body that Stiles can feel under his hands as he carefully places them on Derek's sides.

It feels strange driving through the campground on the back of Derek's bike. People turn their heads and frown at the noise when they pass by, but the secret awe is evident in their eyes. Stiles would know: 24 hours ago he was one of them.

Derek hits the gas with a twist of his wrist once they make it out of the ground's parking lot, and the others follow suite. Stiles is unable to hold back a short chuckle at the excited jump of his heart, hands holding on a little tighter as they speed up.

The wind is soft against his face as he looks over Derek's shoulder toward the horizon, the setting sun warm on his skin. Trees and bushes and rocks whoosh by, and all that lies ahead is the open road. They aren't going very fast, but Stiles still has that same feeling in his stomach as when he rode his first rollercoaster back when he was a kid.

Aiden comes up on their left like a silent predator, his Augusta barely making a sound. Stiles turns his head to the side to find Lydia pasted to his back with both arms shamelessly holding tight to his waist. She smiles at him, her hair like flames in the wind, and he grins back. He hasn't seen her this happy since she entered prom with Jackson on her arm.

Stiles glances over his shoulder to find Ethan and Isaac driving next to each other behind them, taking up both lanes of the road. It's a good thing not a lot of cars seem to be taking this road this time of day. Danny's got his hands on Ethan's hips, fingers digging into the leather. Allison holds Isaac's waist as well, but kept a well respected gap between their bodies in contrast to Lydia.

They're alone out there, with only the steady sound of the bikes and the wind whistling in their ears. Now and then they call out to each other, just a few words to share the thrill, but otherwise they remain quiet. It's such a big change of atmosphere after listening to the guys throwing words around during dinner to the point where Laura had told them all to shut up and eat their damn food. It's a little unexpected to see them like this; so comfortable with the silence, as if they would be perfectly satisfied with riding into the sunset for the rest of their lives. They don't even need to break the silence to agree on directions; simply follow Derek's every turn and change of speed.

Stiles can't wash the stupid grin off his face no matter how hard he tries. The constant wind isn't very warm anymore, and Stiles is mighty grateful for the leather jacket. Derek, however, still wears nothing but his tank top against the wind; arms bare and glowing like gold in the evening sun. He doesn't show any signs of freezing though; doesn't once shiver in Stiles' grip. Still, Stiles mechanically tightens his hold, even if it does little to share his body heat. There is still a gap of air between them on the seat, but Stiles doesn't dare shuffle closer.

Besides, he's perfectly happy as he is.

 

 

 

 

The sun has disappeared behind the mountains by the time they return to camp. It isn't very dark yet, but there are cozy lights spread out amongst the campers, glowing like fireflies.

Scott stands by the side of the road next to their lot, waving them in as they slow down to a stop. He's put on a sweater and got one of Allison's slung over his arm.

"We made a campfire," he informs them.

Allison hops off Isaac's bike to walk with Scott the rest of the way. Isaac's happy grin slips off his face, but nods anyway and takes the lead back to the wolves' camp. Stiles catches Scott's eyes and sees the small smile Scott throws his way before Derek follows Isaac and the twins.

Laura, Erica and Boyd are gathered round a fire just beside their lot, even they in long sleeves. Yoda lies curled up around Boyd's leg but yelps when he hears the bikes approaching, and Boyd has to hold him down so he'll remain in place. Laura gets up to greet them as they park by the tents.

"Derek, sweetie, you must be freezing," she sighs. "Couldn't you at least have put on another shirt?"

Derek shrugs her worried words away, completely unbothered. He shuts off the engine and removes his glasses before turning to look at Stiles who clambers off the bike. He nearly falls over when his feet hit the ground, his legs still shaky from the thrill. Laura grabs him by the arm with a soft laugh, telling him to take it easy until he remembers how to walk the earth again.

When he's got his footing, he slips out of the jacket and hands it back to Derek. "Thanks."

Derek meets his eyes, glasses finally out of the way, and just smiles in response.

They all come together around the fire. Derek disappears only to return wearing a black hoodie with a Harley Davidson logo that looks big and comfy. The other bikers go to get something with longer sleeves as well; whether it's them following Derek's lead or obeying Laura's orders is hard to tell. Boyd and Erica don't move, still sitting comfortably in each other's arms. Stiles thinks he might get diabetes just by looking at them.

Allison and Scott eventually come walking hand in hand. They have been gone for a little longer than necessary to walk their way down here, and Stiles suspects there's been some sort of argument along the way; one most likely including Isaac. They don't seem to be upset with each other when they join the others around the fire though, which is what Stiles had expected. Allison was kind enough to bring Stiles, Lydia and Danny their own hoodies from the RV.

Stiles folds his legs beneath him and curls up next to Scott like a cat, his body starting to shut down for the day, worn out by all the excitement. He can't recall feeling this content since the night of his first victorious lacrosse game.

Their voices are soft murmurs around him; a relaxed atmosphere settling about. It feels like a warm blanket that Stiles just wants to snuggle up into and  _remain_. It hits him that he hasn't even known these people for a whole day, and yet they don't feel like strangers.

"Stiles, did you buy any marshmallows?" Allison asks hopefully.

"I did," Derek says before Stiles has the time to feel like a betrayer, gesturing to the tents.

"Oh, thank god," Laura praises, clapping her brother on the shoulder as she gets up to fetch them.

"Seriously?" Ethan asks, cocking an eyebrow in the light of the fire. "What are we – twelve?"

"Shut up, it's delicious," Isaac pouts, elbowing him.

They roast both bags of marshmallows over the fire, picking up on earlier conversations from dinner.

Scott and Isaac sit on each side of Allison, all three of them exchanging looks that Stiles has a difficult time interpreting. He notices how both guys move closer to her side as the night grows darker, how Scott reaches down to rest a hand on his girlfriend's thigh; which is something Isaac obviously can't mirror  without it being incredibly creepy. Stiles can't blame the guy; Allison  _is_  really pretty, but one would think that the fact that she's got a boyfriend would've made him back off by now. Stiles finds himself waiting for Scott to snap at him, tell him to back off, but he never does.

Derek and Stiles make eye contact several times across the fire, and each time Stiles thinks his heart is going to jump out of his chest. If people had been able to listen to his skipping heartbeat, he would've given himself away _yesterday_. The only one who does is Yoda who's contently lying with his head in Stiles' lap, but all he does is glance up with a bit of wonder in his eyes. Stiles hums to himself and scratches the dog behind the ears, deciding to finally reward him for running off yesterday.

 

 

 

 

They don't return to their own camp until the sky is black and the only light they have is from nearby camps to guide them through the dark. Laura doesn't hesitate to give all of them a hug and Yoda a big kiss, telling them to swing by any time they want.

Stiles and Derek share a long look while everyone says their goodbyes. There's something about that moment that makes Stiles think that _maybe_ he wasn't imagining things; maybe the signs he thought he'd seen of his interest in Derek being mutual isn't just wishful thinking.

"Still think this week is going to suck, Stiles?" Lydia asks him once the two groups have split up for the night and the gang is well out of hearing range.

Stiles blushes and shakes his head. No. He's starting to think it's going to be a really good week.

 

 


	3. Monday

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

The sun is already up when Stiles heads out the next morning, the campground slowly coming to life with the low buzzing of voices all around him. Someone jumps into the lake with a loud whooping sound, breaking the still surface, and the rising sun makes the waves from the splash shine.

Stiles takes the trail 'round the lake again, secretly hoping to run into Derek somewhere along the way, despite him never really showing him this route yet. Maybe Derek found it himself and maybe – just _maybe_ – Stiles will cross paths with him on the other side of the lake.

He doesn't.

The others are on their way out of bed when he returns, which is a good thing because Stiles' stomach doesn't have nearly as much empathy as his heart does and he's _starving_. Danny looks like he's about to turn over and start snoring again, however, and doesn't respond to Stiles poking him in the side.

"Ethan is here," Stiles tries.

Danny sits up in an instant. "What?" The victorious smirk on Stiles' face probably gives the lie away without the need of words. "Screw you," Danny mutters, glaring tiredly at him.

"Flattered," Stiles counters, "but I think I'll pass."

Danny rolls his eyes but doesn't bother trying to go back to sleep. He tags along with the girls when they head for the showers not long after. Scott remains in bed, lying on his stomach with one cheek pressed against the pillow. He looks after the others when they leave, a tired smile on his face. Once they're out of sight he lets the smile fade.

"You okay, buddy?" Stiles asks vaguely, frowning as he sits down on the edge of Lydia's bed.

He doesn't reply right away, which is answer enough. Eventually he lets out a deep sigh and shifts into a sitting position, rubbing his palms together before he looks up to meet Stiles' eyes. He's nervous. Stiles can tell because he hasn't seen his best friend wearing that expression since the day he finally gathered enough courage to ask Allison out for the first time.

"I'm fine," Scott says eventually, which is physically true. Thankfully Stiles doesn't need to ask about the solemn look on his face before he proceeds. "I just... I think I could use your advice, because last night–"

"I saw exactly what happened last night," Stiles offers.

Scott blinks, looking surprised. "You did?"

"Yeah, it was pretty obvious."

"Oh." Scott swallows. "Well... what do you think I should do then?"

"It's not all that difficult, is it?" Stiles remarks, cocking an eyebrow. "Just tell him straight out to back off your girlfriend. You should have done that yesterday already."

Scott goes quiet for a long time, his gaze absently sweeping over the floor. "What if I don't want him to?" It's barely a mumble, but Stiles still caught it.

"What?" He demands, confused.

Then it dawns on him. The constant looks Isaac had given Scott all yesterday had not been about challenge or rivalry. It had been the _same looks_ he'd given Allison. The hard expression on Scott's face had been far from the one Jackson had received whenever he got a little too close to her.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, aware that he's staring in realization. "You're seriously planning on having a threesome with your girlfriend and another _guy?_ "

"Not a _threesome_ ," Scott hurries to say, shifting in place. "I mean, that only goes for actual sex, right? And I just— I don't know," he admits, sighing again and shrugging helplessly. He looks about as confused as Stiles feels. "Last night was... nice?" Stiles doesn't know if it's a question he's supposed to have an answer for. "And me and Allison already talked it over," Scott assures, which makes sense if Stiles thinks back on their delayed arrival last night at the campfire. "I think I just wouldn't really mind if— If he touched her. Or me," he finishes, fumbling with his feet.

"So," Stiles starts slowly, still processing. "You don't mind another guy moving in on your girlfriend... because he's moving in on _you_ as well?"

Scott pauses with his mouth hanging open for a moment, as if repeating Stiles' words in his head. "Yeah," he then agrees, nodding slowly. "I guess that's it."

"Huh," Stiles says, completely dumbstruck. "And yet you and I never got involved when I discovered I played for both teams back in fourth grade?" He asks then, because Scott looks in serious need for a lighter mood. "I'm so offended."

"Dude, you're like my brother," Scott snorts, clearly relieve to have gotten it off his chest. "That would've been so weird." Stiles can't argue with that. "Besides," he goes on, "it's not like I'm into guys or anything. It's just... him. I don't know," he adds.

"Wow," Stiles deadpans, because that's basically 85% of what's still going through his head. "Going gay for a single guy, Scott? I thought that was all bullshit."

Scott huffs, and exhales loudly, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He shrugs, giving Stiles an honest smile. "We're all just here to have fun, right?"

Neither of them mention Derek's name. They don't have to.

"Right."

 

 

 

 

It's another hot day, the sun big and blazing without a single cloud in sight on the clear blue sky. The beach is occupied to the point where the sand is barely visible among all the people in colourful swimwear, and every table and chair on the porch of the restaurant is taken by those seeking refuge in the shade. Music is once again blasting from the speakers on the cabin's wall, but not loud enough to drown the sound of the children splashing and laughing in the water.

Even Stiles and Scott have changed into their swim shorts and agreed that it's too warm to bother putting on shirts today.

The two of them and Danny are kicking a ball in a triangle next to their campsite, circling positions to take turns on being the one with the sun in their eyes. Yoda is running between them, throwing himself on the ball at any chance he gets. Stiles knows it's a bold move to have him running free like this and prays that no dog will walk by and steal the husky's attention from the game.

One of the twins shows up around noon, walking over in an unhurried pace from the beach. He's wearing nothing but a pair of black swim trunks, and as expected he's got really impressive abs. His hair is free of product and lies a bit flat on his head. Stiles can't deny he's ridiculously good-looking.

Danny stops the ball under one foot when he spots the guy approaching, turning to look expectantly at him. The twin must have caught the hopeful expression on Danny's face because he stops to hold up both his hands and point to himself.

"Aiden," he clarifies, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

Danny instantly drops his gaze, blushing. Stiles thinks it's hilarious.

Yoda makes a low noise in his throat and goes to greet the visitor by bumping his head on Aiden's knee, probably recognizing his scent enough from the two previous days to accept his presence without suspicion.

"Lydia is inside," Scott offers.

"Oh, no," Aiden chuckles, scratching his neck before gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. "I just thought you should know that I'm about to beat Derek and Isaac in a swim race, and I figured you guys might want to cheer them up afterwards."

Stiles' heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the first mention of Derek, as if he's suddenly reminded of his existence and that yesterday really happened. The next second he nearly gulps out loud at the thought of seeing Derek shirtless.

Scott laughs, and Stiles quickly joins in. Laughing is easy.

"Sure," Scott nods. "We'll be there."

Aiden flashes them a confident smirk before twirling around and heading back to the beach. Yoda looks like he wants to jog after him, but Stiles manages to call him back. He catches Danny looking at Aiden in the corner of his eye.

"Well," he says, giving Danny a sarcastic smile. "That wasn't awkward at all."

"How the hell am I supposed to tell them apart?" Danny snaps back.

"Oh, please," sings Lydia who just then walks out of the RV. "It's easy. Ethan is left-handed, Aiden right-handed. Didn't you see the watch on his left wrist?" Before anyone could answer, or Stiles admit that he hadn't been paying attention to notice the guy had been wearing a watch at all, she continues, "Also Aiden has sharper features than his brother and is evidently taller."

Stiles feels himself grin at Danny as he gestures toward her. "There you go."

Danny mutters and rolls his eyes, but Stiles can tell he's taking mental notes.

Lydia strides past them. "Come on," She waves her hand at them to follow. "I want to see who wins."

Judging by her tone, she's not as certain of Aiden's victory as he is.

Scott kicks the ball to their camp before they head for the beach. Stiles leashes Yoda and looks down at himself once before accepting that there's not much he can do to improve his appearance right now. He could put on a shirt, but that would be stupid. Also way too hot. He sighs, swallowing the lump in his throat and trots after the others.

Aiden, Laura, Isaac, Ethan and Derek are standing down by the beach as if they've been waiting for them. All the guys are in swimwear; all of them impressive, but Stiles' gaze is immediately drawn to Derek. His big arms are crossed over his front, but his chest is still visible. His pecs look even bigger than they had in his tank top yesterday and he's got a dark happy trail disappearing into his shorts that Stiles would gladly follow with his tongue given the chance.

When he manages to tear his eyes up to get a good look at Derek's face, he sees Derek's sly smile and cocked eyebrow aimed directly at him, and swallows nervously. He looks away and realizes how very unsubtle all that was.

Laura's got her hair pulled back in a ponytail again, wearing a top and jeans shorts and very obviously not planning on joining them in the water. She greets them all with a blinding smile and Stiles decides that it's impossible not to smile back.

"I was going to offer to watch Yoda while you guys get wet," she says, her eyebrows doing something similar to her brother's. "Erica and I would love to take him for a walk."

"Thanks," Stiles says truthfully.

Yoda doesn't protest when Stiles hands her his end of the leash, happily nudging her bare knees with his cold nose and making her giggle. Without the leash to hold onto, however, Stiles doesn't know what to do with his hands. He fumbles on the pockets of his swim shorts for a moment before letting them hang slack at his sides.

Derek is watching him when he looks back up, eyes a bit darker than they should be in this light. Stiles manages not to look away this time, maintaining eye contact until the others around them start moving toward the water.

Stiles nearly stumbles and falls into the shallow water when Derek steps in front of him, revealing his back and a big tattoo in the centre of his shoulder blades. He's not really surprised that a guy like Derek has tattoos, because that's something to be expected from the leader of a biker gang, but after seeing his clean arms and shoulders yesterday he'd figured Derek might be breaking more than one rule of the typical Harley driver.

It doesn't look like a typical biker's tattoo though. They usually have flames or skulls – maybe a quote or lyrics from their favourite song. This one is just plan black, not even with some impressive shadowing, in the form of a Celtic triple spiral.

It's probably the ugliest tattoo Stiles has ever seen.

"Does it mean anything?"

Derek looks over his shoulder at him, frowning in question. Stiles nods toward his back.

"Oh," he huffs, shrugging and looking ahead again. "No."

And it doesn't even mean anything. Wow.

They wade further into the water and away from the shore. Aiden says they should move out to the deep water where there are no kids splashing about. He doesn't want to hit them when he comes flying in. Ethan snorts quietly so his brother won't hear.

Stiles makes an embarrassing noise at the first cool touch below his navel when the water level rises, ignoring the raised eyebrow glance Derek sends his way. The amused tug at the corner of his mouth is enough for him not to feel too self-conscious under his gaze though.

In order to make it as even as possible – and not to give Aiden an excuse to blame his worn-out muscles, Ethan says – they'll all race at once. Ethan puts Derek, Isaac and Aiden on a line where their feet still reach the bottom and the water surface ripples against Derek's abs. He points out a stone about sixty feet out as turning point. The rules are simple: first one to make it back wins.

Ethan asks if any of the others want to join, and Allison and Danny accept. Scott looks like he wants to, but it could get problematic with his asthma. Stiles remains on the sidelines to accompany him, but also because he's not nearly as good a swimmer as Allison is and prefers not to make a fool out of himself. Lydia refuses point blank because she doesn't want to mess up her hair.

Stiles can't help but find the level of concentration on Derek's face fascinating as Ethan counts down. His eyes are set on the boulder ahead, his body tense and ready to spring at a moment's notice. Then Ethan yells _GO!_ and he dives head first into the water.

As it turns out, the only one in need of cheering up is Aiden.

Isaac wins big, passing the finish line more than three seconds before Derek. Aiden and Danny get to share third place, staying side by side nearly the entire race. Allison isn't too far behind them, but doesn't seem to be the slightest bit upset about her placing. She swims straight for Isaac with a big grin on her face, reaching up to ruffle the wet mess of curls that is his hair.

Derek makes his way to where Stiles is standing. His hair is dripping and shiny under the sun, water drops covering his face and trailing down his chest when he stands to his full height. He blinks rapidly a few times, eyelashes thick, and drags a palm down his face. It's a swift movement, probably only lasts for a second or two, but Stiles feels like he's watching it in slow-motion.

Then he gets water in his eyes – and a mouthful, because apparently he can't check a guy out without his mouth hanging open – before he realizes it's Derek who splashed him.

"Seriously?" He scoffs, surprised by the sudden and childish action, shaking his head violently.

"Come on," Derek teases before sending another wave at him. "Afraid to get your hair wet?"

That smirk will haunt him forever, Stiles is certain of it. It looks almost _challenging_.

He can see Lydia pouting in the corner of his eye but doesn't hesitate to get his revenge on Derek, attacking him with rapid splashes from both his hands.

"I've made up my mind about your age," he says. "You're _five_."

Derek splashes at him again and attempts to flee, but Stiles dives after him.

Aiden challenges his brother in a race later, apparently refusing to call it a day until he's had at least one victory. Lydia rolls her eyes behind his back, but it's pretty damn obvious that his determination to impress her amuses her to no end.

Danny gives Ethan a gentle punch on the shoulder for luck and it's awfully adorable and cheesy at the same time. It's also obvious how bad they want to jump each other. Stiles hasn't seen that look on Danny's face since he first spotted the new cage dancer at Jungle, and Ethan returns it with the same animalistic stare.

Aiden wins the race, but Stiles is pretty sure Ethan lost on purpose.

 

 

 

 

"Is he flirting with me?"

The question slips out before he even registers opening his mouth to think out loud.

Luckily the guy in question is several feet ahead of him, way out of hearing range, with the sun glistening in his black hair and the ink on his back. Scott, Allison, Ethan and Isaac are with him, reaching the shoreline as they had gone ahead back to the beach.

Aiden and Lydia both huff in exasperation behind him and Stiles knows Danny, who's wading in the knee-deep water only a few feet away, heard it too but chooses to keep quiet.

"Yes," Lydia says firmly. "He's flirting with you. Better prepare yourself, Stiles," she continues, her smile evident in her voice. "Looks like you're in risk of losing your virtue before the week is up."

Stiles doesn't know how to respond to any of that. He can feel his cheeks and ears burn hot as he blushes and is thankful that Lydia and Aiden can't see his face or hear how his heartbeat escalates.

Okay. So this is really happening.

"So what's the next step in your plan?" Danny suddenly asks, turning his head to sneer at him. Stiles _knew_ he was listening.

"I don't have a plan," Stiles slurs, heart in his throat. "I'm totally plan less. How am I supposed to have a plan? I've never done this before. I've never had a one-night stand. Or a more-than-one one night stand or whatever the hell this is."

They must be messing with him because there's no way in hell _Derek_ would want someone like _him_.

"I think most people would call it a 'summer fling'," Lydia informs, then sighs heavily. "Seriously, it's not all that complicated. Just make sure he knows you're game." She makes it sound like it's the easiest and most obvious thing in the world to do, and it probably is. To _her_ anyway, and everybody else who's used to this type of things. "You'll have a good chance at the beach party tonight."

Stiles looks over his shoulder to stare at her. "Wait, what? What party?"

"Are you blind? There are posters cluttering the whole wall down by the showers." She doesn't bother waiting for him to say he'd been too distracted these days to notice posters on a wall. "Yes, there's a beach party tonight. A party, by the beach, in case that needed clarifying."

"Thank you," Stiles says sarcastically as they, too, reach the shore.

The others have gathered in a circle, waiting for them to catch up. Stiles swallows hard when he steps out of the water, feeling the sand paste to his feet. He barely even dares to look in Derek's direction, knowing he'll be watching him already, and his stomach knots before he does it anyway.

He wonders how people can be so casual about this; befriending new people and just _going with it._ Just have fun knowing it will only last for a short amount of time and then going back to their lives, the way it was before getting intimate with a stranger. He wonders if the reason he seems to be the only one in the party who seems to be freaking out about this is because he's a virgin.

"I think I better go check on Yoda," he says suddenly, once they're all gathered. "Just wanna make sure Laura hasn't had it with him yet."

The others nod and he's just about to swirl around and flee when Derek says; "She's happy to have him. I'm not even sure she'll let you have him back, to be honest."

His fellow biker members chuckle and grin knowingly. Stiles scoffs, heart skipping a beat.

"I want to make sure anyway," he says, turning away.

"Hold up," Ethan calls, running to catch up with him. "I'm heading there anyway."

Yoda is bound to the table when they arrive at the campsite, whining and pulling on the leash once he spots Stiles and Ethan approaching. Laura, who's sitting on one of the benches with a book in her hand, reaches down to set him free so he can run and meet Stiles and attack him with sloppy kisses.

Once the dog has calmed down enough to let him walk over to where Laura is sitting, he nods toward the table with a raised eyebrow.

"Still here?"

Ethan shrugs as he walks past him, heading for the tents. "We usually don't return stuff until someone comes waving with a badge."

Stiles snorts a laughter as he sits down opposite Laura.

"Don't tell me," she says, waving her hand in a stopping motion before letting it fall flat on the table. "Isaac won."

Stiles huffs. "That wasn't a fair fight at all, was it?"

"Not really," Laura admits. "His dad was the coach to a really successful swim team."

The fact that she says _was_ rather than _is_ makes Stiles want to ask, but he's smart enough not to. He just nods, thinking the reason Derek hadn't been upset with coming in second place was because he'd counted on Isaac winning. Something Aiden apparently hadn't.

Yoda bumps his nose on his knee under the table, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"He's been good?" Stiles asks, reaching down to pet him.

"He's been an absolute angel," Laura assures him. "Boyd and Erica played with him and completely drained him after our walk. They just left for a quick ride," she explains, gesturing half-heartedly to the three remaining bikes.

Stiles scratches Yoda behind his ear, nodding with a small chuckle. Laura watches him with a warm smile. She reminds him of his mother, but saying that out loud would probably be taken as an insult for those who didn't know her, so he keeps it to himself. Maybe it's because of the way she seems to have taken on the mother role for all of them, even Derek. There's a kindness in her voice that doesn't sound like a big sister putting her brother in place, but more like a caring mother looking after her son. It makes Stiles want to ask about the rest of their family, but he doesn't dare to. His own mother had been around long enough to teach him not to be rude by asking too many questions, especially to people you don't know very well.

"We were only supposed to stay for one night, you know."

He frowns at her mumble. "What?"

"Here. At the campground," she clarifies, but sounds almost hesitant to go on. "We never planned on staying a whole week. Just one night and then we'd be back on the road."

Stiles feels like he's supposed to understand something important here, but doesn't. "What happened?"

Laura shrugs. "Derek changed his mind."

"And all of you were just okay with that?" Stiles asks.

She laughs softly. "They follow him like blind puppies," she sighs, but there's something fond in her tone. "They're all perfectly fine with him calling the shots."

Stiles remembers last night, and how they all had followed Derek down the road without the need to have their own say in the matter, and nods.

"So... what made him change his mind?"

Laura studies him for a moment. "Isn't it obvious?" She asks, a weak smile on her lips. "He met you."

To say that he's shocked would be an understatement. Stiles opens his mouth to answer, but no words come out. He closes it and reopens it only to finally snap his mouth shut. He thinks back to when they first met two days ago; how Isaac had looked at Derek with a frown as he'd answered how long they would be staying. Derek hadn't even hesitated with his reply. They had barely been talking for five minutes, and he'd changed his mind that quickly – because of _Stiles?_

"Oi," Ethan calls, crawling out of the orange tent and startling Stiles. He's holding up the phone in his hand. "Isaac says they got the volleyball net. You guys in?"

Laura turns her head to him, ponytail slapping against her bare shoulder. "Of course we are," she decides for both of them, kicking Stiles' ankle under the table before getting up. "Bring Yoda."

Stiles has to mentally slap himself before he's able to stand up and hums his agreement. Yoda starts bouncing excitedly when the three of them walk down to the beach, and Stiles has to put the leash back on so he won't run ahead.

He thinks he'll process what Laura said on the way there, but fails.

 

 

 

 

None of them is wearing more than swimwear while they play, and yet Stiles wishes he could crawl out of his skin. The sun is too bright, too hot, and his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead, sweat pouring down his temple.

"I never should've let my hair grow out," he grunts, sending the ball over the net with a hit on his forearms. "I don't get how you girls can stand it."

"How did you have it before?" Ethan wonders from the other side, eyes following the ball as Isaac sends it flying again.

"Buzz cut," Stiles replies, breathing heavily from the heat and makes a move for the ball, but Allison saves it before he can reach it.

"I would've loved to see that," Laura says. "Though you look great as you are now."

Stiles huffs and ducks his head in embarrassment at the compliment.

"I swear I'm five drops of sweat away from getting the razor."

It's a miracle that they even managed to get the net; it had been occupied practically at all times since they arrived, save the nights and early mornings. They had divided themselves into two teams, one consisting of Stiles, Allison, Derek, Aiden and Lydia and the rest on the other. Boyd and Erica showed up shortly into the game and split up for each team with Boyd joining Stiles' side.

Yoda's been running under the net to whichever side the ball currently is in a desperate attempts to catch it. The game had quickly become less about keeping the ball from touching the sand and more about not letting Yoda snatch it.

"Watch it!" Aiden shouts when the ball drops fast and dangerously close to the net on their side.

Stiles throws himself forward, but so does Derek. They collide roughly, both groaning at the hard impact and falling to their knees in the sand along with the ball. Derek's skin is hot against Stiles', their shoulders brushing where they landed. Stiles' head is spinning and this time the heat is not to blame.

"Sorry," Derek apologizes, but he sounds more amused than upset.

Stiles laughs it off, attempting to get back up, but stumbles.

Yoda somehow in the span of two seconds manages to take the ball in his mouth and playfully start dodging the others' hands as they try to retrieve it from him before his teeth bore holes in the plastic.

Derek gets to his feet and extends a hand for Stiles who swallows before accepting it, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Derek's wrist and haul himself up.

"Thanks," he says, expecting Derek to let go, but he doesn't.

They're standing close enough for Stiles to notice that they're more or less the same height. Derek's eyes are like mirrors again, looking almost as blue as the sky above their heads. He's got sweat drops travelling down his temple, hair still damp from the swimming. His lips are parted, the corners twitching as he studies Stiles' face in return. It's only fair, but Stiles can't keep himself from blushing under his gaze.

Allison retrieves the ball back from Yoda, and Derek finally lets go of Stiles so they can resume playing.

 

 

 

 

Stiles has never been so anxious for a party in his entire life, and it probably has something to do with the fact that there'll be a guy who may or may not want to get into his pants there. The fact that his so-called friends spend more time teasing him than being helpful with his crisis doesn't make things better.

"Okay, but how do I approach this?" He asks when they're getting changed inside the RV. At this point, he's getting desperate for advice and couldn't care less about his pride. (What pride?) "I mean, how do I let him know that the light is green? That I approve and want him to go for it?"

"Try a green shirt," Danny offers because he's enjoying this too much.

" _Do you_ want him to go for it?" Allison asks because she's a good friend.

Stiles makes another muted fish-motion with his mouth before turning up the volume.

"Yeah. I mean— Why not?"

Because Derek is _gorgeous._ Way hotter than any guy he ever thought would look his way, and he's pretty sure he'll never get this lucky again, so why not? It's not like he's stayed a virgin for this long by choice.

Once upon a time he'd wanted his first time to be special, with _someone_ special who was more than just a pretty face. Someone he could connect with and appreciate more than just sexually. But after being rejected by not only Lydia, but every other girl or boy he'd taken interest in, he'd practically lost all faith in him ever finding something like that.

And even if it makes him literally shudder with anxiety, the thought of someone like Derek being his first is far from displeasing.

He ends up wearing a red shirt because Danny is stupid.

It's not very dark yet, but there are party lights trailing the porch and the one side of the restaurant cabin facing the water. There's a bar set up on the beach in the sand near the volleyball net. People are all over the place, most of them looking as if they just got out of the water wearing swim trunks and bikinis. Music is – as always – playing loud enough for Stiles to spend about two seconds feeling bad for anyone who's trying to sleep nearby.

They spot Laura waving at them from a corner and make their way through the crowd to where the whole pack is gathered.

"Dude," Ethan grins, nodding to Stiles. "Red riding hood. That's awesome. Where's your wolf?"

Stiles chuckles, scratching the back of his head and thereby already messes up his hair. "Back in camp."

Derek's eyes take him in when Stiles looks his way. His hair is no longer a mess, put back in place with the usual hair gel. He's in a gray v-neck shirt that reveals a little too much of his chest for Stiles to keep himself from staring. That's okay though because now he knows the depth in Derek's eyes is not only because of the low lighting.

It isn't just his imagination. Derek's eyes really do dilate when their eyes meet.

"We would offer you some drinks," Aiden says, "but you're all underage."

"Oh please," Lydia snorts, rolling her eyes. "As if that's ever stopped anyone before." She pointedly reaches for the red cup in Aiden's hand, daring him to do something about it. He doesn't stop her.

Isaac stands next to Derek with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, apparently not drinking despite the gang's tendency to bend the rules. His hair is dry and fluffy again, but he looks nothing like a puppy. He's got his eyes fixed on Scott and Allison, gaze darting between them with a weak smirk on his thin lips. Stiles can feel Scott shift next to him, his hand still holding Allison's while returning Isaac's stare.

Ethan offers Danny a sip from his beer which he accepts and drinks straight from the bottle. They stand so close that Stiles realizes he wouldn't be surprised if they started making out, along with just how much he actually wants to _see_ that. It's a little creepy, so he tears his gaze away.

Laura is suddenly at his side, smoothly looping her arm around his. "You dance?"

"Depends," he replies. "Are we talking waltz?"

"I was thinking to what's playing," she smiles.

"Stiles can shake it," Danny informs with a sly smile. "He's got some awesome moves."

Stiles snorts, embarrassed, suddenly reminded of that night he and Danny had snuck into Jungle with fake IDs and he'd been all over the place.

Laura's face lightens up in curiosity. "Is that so?"

"I shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a dance floor," he tries to convince her. "I accidentally hit a guy in the face once. It's dangerous."

"Prove it," she persists, pulling him by the arm.

Stiles throws a look in Derek's direction and finds him smiling widely. He gives up with a sigh, letting himself be pulled into the crowd of dancing bodies.

 

 

 

 

One hour later and he's still dancing.

It's a hot night, even with the sun down, and at this point nearly everyone around him have shed most of their clothes. Shirtless torsos are everywhere, moving in rhythm to the music. The sky is darker and the party lights are making their skin glow in a golden and warm light. Stiles' red shirt is lying wherever he tossed it after it started to cling to his sticky skin.

Laura is dancing nearby, her hips moving in a steady pace from side to side. She's smiling; sometimes at Stiles and sometimes at the guys circling around her like vultures. Whenever they get a little too close, she moves over to Stiles until they back off. She's given him an apologetic look every time it happened, but Stiles just shakes his head. He doesn't mind.

Lydia and Aiden are dancing close to the water. Stiles can't see them very clearly with all the people between them to block the view, but he can make out Lydia's arm slung around Aiden's neck and the pleased smile on her red lips. Aiden is one of the few people still wearing his shirt, his hands in her hair and on her waist, sliding slowly but with purpose every time Stiles looks their way. It's no news that Lydia can get whatever guy she wants, but he can't help being impressed by how easy she makes it look.

Ethan's got several people staring him down – girls and boys alike – but doesn't let Danny out of his sight even for a second. They're not touching; a space of air still between their bodies, but anyone can tell they're there together. Sometimes Danny's gaze drops to linger on Ethan's bare torso, and Ethan flashes a cocky smile only to do the same in return.

Boyd doesn't appear to be much for partying, but Erica still manages to drag him out to dance for a short period of time. He's got a fond expression on his face when he lets her guide him for a few minutes before he gives up, kissing her cheek before heading back to the bar. She doesn't seem upset about it though, staying to dance with Laura for a while before running after him.

Isaac's tall figure is moving to the rhythm of the music with Allison's back pasted to his bare front. Her head is resting on his chest with his hands on her hips. Both are smiling at Scott who's dancing in front of them, reaching up to place a hand on the side of Isaac's neck while the other joins the hand on Allison's left hip. He leans in to rest his forehead against Allison's, thumb brushing the base of Isaac's jaw. The sound of their united giggling can be heard over the loud music.

Stiles hasn't had very much to drink; only a few sips from Laura and Ethan, but he still feels a bit fuzzy. There's a warmth wrapping around his insides and he can't stop smiling. He likes it. He feels free. Beacon Hills and everything ordinary feels very far away.

A warm body presses up behind him, an arm sliding around his waist, and Stiles' heart stops; knowing who it is without having to look.

Derek's arm circles around him, hand brushing past his hipbone and to the sensitive area just below his navel. Not to stop him but to _move with him_. Stiles feels his firm chest press against his back, locking their bodies together like the halves of a two-piece puzzle. A sandpapery chin touches his shoulder, hot breath in his ear. He smells of salt and beer and Stiles recognizes his cologne. Derek's heart is pounding against his shoulder blades; its pace rapid but still not as fast as Stiles'.

He's never gone so hard that quickly before.

It's impossible to think straight when it feels like his brain just short-circuited. His body is still moving, with and against Derek's. His breath comes in short and heavy puffs that are drowned by the music. His heart is racing painfully in his chest from both excitement and sheer panic. He turns his head slightly to the side, as if to acknowledge Derek being there, not sure if he wants to look at him or not.

Then Derek drags his bottom lip against his ear and Stiles gasps, blood rushing south so fast it makes him dizzy and his stomach knots in anticipation. Derek hums in his ear in response and Stiles can practically _feel_ it vibrating through the body behind him rather than hear it.

Everything and everyone turns into a blur around them. Stiles tries to get a grip on himself, tries to focus on how well he and Derek fit together and the way their hips are moving. Derek's other hand slowly comes to rest on his exposed hip, thumb trailing along the edge of his swim trunks. Stiles turns his head further to the side, encouraging him, still seeing nothing but a dark shape in the corner of his eye.

He can't tell how much time passes by, or how long they remain exactly like that, but once he feels confident enough he reaches down behind him with one of his shaky hands, fingers digging into the fabric of Derek's shorts. Judging by the vibration going through Derek, he approves. Stiles can feel something that must be Derek's dick twitch against the curve of his ass, and he instinctively tries to pull Derek even closer. He lets out a heavy puff of air as he lets his head dip back a little. Derek scrapes his cheek against his ear, causing his heart to flutter even further. He realize that he's smiling; happiness bursting inside him.

When he looks up for the first time in a while, he spots Scott who's swapped places with Allison. Isaac is hovering behind him, craning his neck due to their height difference to slide his parted lips over the vein in Scott's neck. Scott's face is flushed, pupils blown and mouth agape in order to breathe. Stiles swallows, silently wondering if that's what _he_ looks like right now.

He turns his head to the side again, his cheek colliding with the bridge of Derek's nose. It's the most intimate he's ever been with anyone, and he let his eyes fall shut while he tries to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest.

He wonders if he should turn around, wonders if he should try and kiss him. He wonders what's going through Derek's head right now, wonders how many times Derek has done this before.

Then Derek presses his nose firmly into his cheek, inhaling deeply as if trying to catch his scent, and Stiles forgets everything.


	4. Tuesday

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

Stiles wakes the next morning to damp sheets clinging to his sweat slick skin and an achingly hard cock.

He can't recall much from the dream; most of it just a blur of colors and images, but he's positive that Derek had been in it. It's not often he dreams – at least that he can remember – and he desperate tries to recall the details. Derek's face flashes behind his eyes when he blinks, and the feeling of his hands on Stiles' hips lingers from both the dream and reality of last night. He remembers Derek making small noises in his ear, dragging his scruff against the side of his neck, but can't tell for sure how much of it that actually happened.

When his gaze sweeps over the room, he's surprised to find the other beds empty and the sun shining through the small window in the back. He can hear the distant sound of children's laughter from the beach and the regular music from the restaurant reverberating through the camp.

Any other day he probably would've stopped to be amazed that he'd slept for so long, but right now the realization that he's alone in the room is all he needs before rolling onto his stomach and starting to thrust his hips down into the mattress, gasping at the friction. He reaches down to push down his boxers without giving it a second thought, grinding down against the bed again. One of his feet dangles off the small bunk bed, his hands grasping at the sheets as he keeps humping the mattress. His cock is leaking and smearing pre-come, slicking his way with each thrust.

He tries to imagine what it would be like to have Derek so close behind him, just like last night but with his hands holding him more tightly. He wonders what Derek would sound like, panting into the curve of his neck. He wonders what it would be like to have Derek's big hands on his hips again, this time to hold him in place while sliding inside him. He wants to know what it would feel like to have Derek reach down and wrap one hand around his dick, letting Stiles fuck into his hand in rhythm with Derek's thrusts.

He buries the strangled moan in his pillow when he comes; orgasm washing over him in a white flash of pleasure so strong it's nearly painful.

"Fuck," he gasps once he can breathe again, head spinning and heart racing.

Once he comes back down from his high, he manages to move enough to sit back on his calves. He may have saved his boxers but the sheets are ruined. He sighs before stripping them off the bed and throwing them into the laundry basket. He could always try and blame it on the heat and amount of sweat, but doubts anyone will believe him.

He really needs a shower, so he lazily pulls on some pants and a shirt, grabbing a set of clothes from his bag and leaves the bedroom. No one is in the main area of the RV either and Stiles vaguely wonders where Yoda is before going for the door.

Lydia is sitting outside in her chair, phone in one hand. She doesn't even bother to look up from behind her sunglasses when he stumbles down the stairs.

"Morning, Stiles."

"Why did you let me sleep in?" He asks, because everything feels so off. He's gotten so used to always being the first one out of bed in the morning and taking Yoda on his much needed morning walk.

Sighing, Lydia puts her phone down to look at him. "Because, Stiles, I'm not an idiot. You've been sleeping really badly ever since we got here. Why would I chase you out of bed when you finally sleep past seven am?" She returns her attention to the phone. "Danny took Yoda," she adds.

Stiles knows very well she isn't an idiot, and he feels a grateful smile grow on his lips.

"Thank you," he sighs softly.

"You're welcome," she shrugs. "Now go shower."

He remains paralyzed for a few seconds, then turns to stagger toward the showers before she can see the blush on his face.

 

 

 

 

Since he's the last man to have breakfast, and unable to use Yoda for an excuse this time, Stiles is the one to do the dishes. He doesn't mind. Without something to put his mind and hands to he probably would've ended up lying face-down in his unmade bed until Danny and Yoda got back so he'd at least have his dog to tend to. He'd do anything to prevent himself from falling into the oblivion of his own thoughts that make his heart throb and an uneasy pull in his stomach occur.

As it is, he's still feeling that pull in his stomach, unable to stop himself from thinking; no matter how hard he tries to set his mind on the task. He even tries to think about every little thing he does just to keep his mind occupied and not let anything slip through. It almost works.

(Grab the plate. Put it under the water flow. Scrub with the brush. Don't forget the edges. _Holy crap, Derek danced with me last night_. Dip it back in the cold water. Put it in the rack. Grab another plate. _His hands were on my hips._ )

Scott bursts through the door and disturbs his concentration.

"You're finally up?" He asks, dropping down to sit on the couch. "I was almost starting to get worried."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, well. Apparently I had to recover from last night."

"Hung over?"

"No," Stiles shakes his head. "I barely drank."

"I didn't drink anything and I still feel drunk," Scott scoffs. Stiles vividly remember what he'd looked like on the beach last night; pressed up against Isaac much like he'd been pressed against Derek. "Hey, you want any help?" Scott offers, about to get up.

"It's fine," Stiles says, elbow shooting up to make Scott remain in place. "It's my turn anyway."

Scott hums and nods, sinking back in his seat. Silence falls between them, only the sound of running water and plates clashing together audible. The sounds from the campground can be heard from the outside; the waves along with muffled voices.

"Allison and I just got back from their camp," Scott eventually says, and the fact that he doesn't need to say _whose_ camp makes something in Stiles' gut stir.

"What were you doing there?" He wonders.

"Saying hello to Isaac," Scott says, shrugging almost shyly. "Derek asked for you."

It's a miracle that the plate doesn't break when it slips out of his grip. Scott gives him an amused grin but doesn't say anything. His friends are enjoying this way too much. The problem is that he can't really blame them.

"They want to have lunch with us again," Scott continues.

Stiles feels his stomach doing flip-flops again, but knows it's not exactly a bad thing. He's been wondering – fearing – since he woke up what it'll be like to face Derek again. He knows it will have to happen one way or another.

"Great."

"Really? You're not gonna tell me this is a bad idea?" Scott asks.

Stiles looks over at him. "Should I?"

"After what happened last night? No, you really shouldn't."

Stiles nods in agreement, turning his gaze back to the sink. His heart jumps a little at hearing Scott say that, as if he's confirming what happened last night was real and not just a dream. Stiles knows it wasn't a dream, but hearing someone say it out loud reminds him that they hadn't been alone, that others had seen them together.

Derek had been drinking last night, and earlier when Stiles had been in the shower with his mind racing, he couldn't help but to think that Derek may not have been in his right mind. Maybe he wouldn't have touched Stiles if he'd been sober. But deep down Stiles knows that's just him still having a hard time at grasping the fact that Derek has taken an interest in him. He's been perfectly sober all the other times they've been together over the last few days. Nothing had been imaginary. Maybe he wouldn't have danced with Stiles like he did without the drinking, but that doesn't change the fact that he obviously wants Stiles for _something_. Whether it's just to stare at him for the rest of the week or it's something more than that. Stiles has no idea, but he's dying to find out.

 

 

 

 

Danny eventually returns with Yoda, his shirt damp with sweat around his v-neck. He's smiling though, still not appearing to be bothered by the heat. Stiles can't decide if he's jealous or worried.

"That was a long walk," he points out, taking the leash from Danny's hand.

"He bumped into Ethan," Lydia says. "Literally."

"You seem to do that a lot," Stiles points out.

"How did you know?" Danny asks Lydia, ignoring him.

Lydia waves with her phone. "Aiden told me."

Danny just huffs, mumbling something about people needing to mind their own business as he brushes past Stiles toward the RV.

It suddenly occurs to Stiles that Lydia and Danny taking interest in the twins makes perfect sense. Back home, Danny kept saying Jackson wasn't his type, but considering Lydia's love for Jackson and how both of them are now involved with two guys with the same face, Stiles thinks it may be something he's just convinced himself of. The twins really are Jackson x2; with the same cheekbones and wide chin. Even their haircuts are identical. Ethan is nicer than Jackson, which probably makes him more appealing to Danny. Aiden is a bit of jerk, but then again; Lydia didn't mind that in Jackson either.

Even if this only lasts for a few more days, even if both of them are just trying to get over the douche bag back home, Stiles thinks it's great to see them as happy as they are now. Lydia is smiling into her phone and Danny is slipping inside the RV with dimples still visible.

Allison catches his gaze, smiling at him from where she's sitting in Scott's lap.

"Derek asked about you earlier."

"Yeah, I know," Stiles replies with a heavy sigh. "Scott told me."

She flashes an affectionate glance to her boyfriend before looking back at Stiles, tilting her head to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

"Are you nervous?"

"Terribly," he says flatly. "Can we please not talk about it?"

"But it's the drama of the week," Scott insists, smirking.

"So are you two and Isaac," Danny calls from inside.

Allison and Scott both blush, bumping their heads together.

 

 

 

 

They can hear Derek's old stereo playing long before they reach camp, rock music drowning the dance beats down by the beach. Stiles feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, can't help but find the fact that Derek seems pretty old school kind of adorable. Perhaps he doesn't even own a phone, which makes Stiles relieved he never asked for his number, because that would've been awkward.

It feels almost familiar when the blue and orange tents come into view, with the four bikes parked in their usual spot and the sun reflecting off the black metal. No one seems to have noticed the misplaced camp table yet, because it's still there; the boom box on top and the wolves gathered 'round it.

Ethan reaches them first, greeting them all and then only Danny with a private beaming smile. Yoda eagerly tries to get closer to him, and Stiles doesn't even bother trying to hold him back; just lets go of the leash. Whatever happened this morning, the dog obviously decided Ethan is one of his new favorite people. But then again, who isn't?

"Hey you," Laura calls out in her baby voice, appearing at Ethan's side and falling to her knees. Yoda immediately abandons Ethan to lick her face. Ethan doesn't seem very upset though, just laughs and falls into step next to Danny.

Stiles seeks Derek out in a heartbeat. He's walking around the other side of the tents, leather gloves on and helmet in hand. The sunglasses are back, but he reaches up with his free hand to take them off almost as soon as Stiles spots him, folding them with a flick of his hand and putting them in the v-neck of his grey shirt.

Stiles swallows. _Rude_.

Derek locks eyes with him, and Stiles suddenly realizes they haven't done that since last night, before Laura dragged him away to dance. Even when they had spent more than an hour dancing together, Derek had remained behind him the entire time; hands on his skin and breath in his ear, never turning to face him. Not even when it was all over and the music died as people started to clear out. Stiles had been in a haze and Derek had just vanished.

There's something new in the way Derek looks at him now, but Stiles can't say what it is exactly. He can hear the rapid beating of his heart and blood rushing in his ears as Derek comes closer, steadily returning his gaze even if his knees feel like they're about to buckle.

Around him, everyone else doesn't seem the slightest affected by whatever happened last night. Scott smiles at Isaac and steps maybe a little too much into his personal space. Danny nudges Ethan gently with his shoulder as they sit down by the table. Lydia ruffles Aiden's hair, claiming to get rid of a twig.

It's so easy; how two groups of people become one.

Derek stops in front of him. _Close_. Closer than they have ever been face to face. His pupils are big despite the bright sun, and a sudden wave of pride washes over Stiles because he knows he's the reason. Derek's eyes flicker to his lips, and for a second Stiles can swear he's about to get kissed, but then Derek lifts his gaze back up.

"Hey," he says instead, his cute teeth peeking out as he speaks.

It's so far from anything Stiles expected that he's left baffled for a moment. He'd prepared himself for several different scenarios – most of them including being roughly kissed or even completely ignored – but not this. Not Derek acting all cute while looking like America's next top male model. It's confusing his brain.

"Hi," he manages to get out, attempting a smile.

Derek huffs, ducking his head, and at least _that_ Stiles had expected.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head in a gesture to the table. "The food is ready."

Stiles notices the others watching them once Derek steps out of his face and makes it possible for him to see the rest of the world again. It makes him feel a little uncomfortable, but he's aware that it'll be difficult to get much privacy in a place like this. They all look away when he catches them staring, only Laura's eyes linger on him for a moment.

The table is already set, too. Derek moves the stereo without being told this time and Laura calls on them all to gather 'round and dig in. Lydia and Allison had been clever enough to remember bringing their chairs from their own camp this time, so no one ends up sitting on the ground.

The only one complaining is Yoda.

Derek sits down next to Stiles on the bench, and Stiles catches Scott sending an amused smirk in his direction. They're pressed against each other's sides the entire meal; thighs and shoulders constantly touching and their bare arms brushing together makes the hair on the back of Stiles' neck stand. It's the most distracting thing ever and he can't recall ever having so much trouble eating before.

"Isn't it interesting though?" He hears Allison say once he manages to listen in on the conversation going on. "It's not a very big sport and yet it's the most popular one in our school."

Oh, so they're talking about lacrosse now.

"I don't get lacrosse," Laura admits thoughtfully. "Basketball though," she says, waving her bread in Allison's direction. "I love basketball."

"You play?" Allison asks.

"Not exactly," Laura smiles. "I did put up a good fight against Derek for practice when we were younger though. He used to play in high school."

Derek lifts his chin and throws her a look across the table, as if she just gave away one of his darkest secrets. It's not obvious enough for the others around them to notice, but Stiles catches it anyway. One second the siblings are staring at each other in silence and the next they return to their food as if it never happened.

"So which one of you is the better player?" Aiden asks, voice sounding like a challenge.

"Count me out," Scott sighs, and while he explains how he never made first line, Stiles realizes Derek already knows the story because of his babbling the other day.

"You two then?" Ethan says, nodding toward Stiles and Danny. "Who's better?"

"Are you still talking about lacrosse?" Aiden teases, and receives a push from his brother.

"Probably Danny," Stiles says.

"I don't know," Danny protests. "You did win that one game for us. It was pretty glorious."

"It was _awesome_ ," Scott corrects. "The crowd went crazy."

"That was pure luck," Stiles says. "Besides, our best players were on the bench."

"So you got the ball for once," Lydia intones, "and did what you would've done a long time ago if it hadn't been for egotistic star players that always kept you from doing it." She points a finger at Danny. "And that is not an accusation toward _you_ , by the way."

No, it's an accusation toward Jackson.

"I think I want to keep playing in college," Danny confesses a while later.

"Dude, I'm going to slap you if you don't," Scott warns. "You got a scholarship!"

"Really?" Ethan says, raising his eyebrows in awe.

"Which is proof enough for who's the best out of us," Stiles concludes. "I didn't get a scholarship."

"But you got awesome grades," Allison reminds him.

"Yeah, dude," Scott nods. "You can basically go anywhere from here."

Stiles shrugs, not sure how to respond to that, but Laura is curious.

"And where do you want to go, Stiles?" She asks. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Stiles replies in a heartbeat, because he's been asked that exact question so many times by his dad that it's practically on speed-dial. "I mean— I can do a lot of things. I've thought about some kind of developer or inventor. I like technical stuff. I'm good at it, too."

"So you're a hacker who plays sports," Laura says, smiling curiously. "Interesting combination."

"Oh no, that's Danny's combination," Stiles says. "He's the hacker. I'm just really smart."

"Fairly smart," Lydia interjects, biting chicken off her fork.

"Smart enough," Scott says firmly. "Seriously, do you have any idea how tough it is to be surrounded by all these smartasses?"

They all laugh, Allison chuckling into Scott's shoulder while Isaac meets his eyes across the table.

Stiles feels the vibration from Derek's body as he chuckles.

Laura somehow manages to make them all reveal their plans for the future now that high school's over, which is amazing considering Scott is never very proud of talking about his job at the animal clinic. She must possess some kind of superpower because she gets them all to talk. She would make a great interrogator, and Stiles is convinced his dad would hire her in a heartbeat. Scott says he'll start working full time at the clinic and stay with his mom for a little bit longer before taking off somewhere. Allison says she'll probably help her dad and join the family business. Lydia wants to get into a university and keep studying.

Derek doesn't talk much, seeming perfectly happy with the others running the conversations. It's no surprise to Stiles, because he still hasn't heard Derek talk as much as he did that morning two days ago when they ran into each other at the grocery store. He vaguely wonders why that is. If maybe it's because they were alone at the time, without any of the gang member's around as an audience. He wonders what it would be like to have Derek all to himself, and if there would be more or less talking if he did.

Ethan asks him what it's like to have a sheriff for a dad, and Stiles tells them the story of how he and Scott got lost in the woods one night when they were sixteen and were found the next morning by a whole task force. His dad had been so relieved he'd grounded them both for a week.

Stiles notices Derek watching him in the corner of his eye even after he's finished and past the punch line. He keeps himself from looking back until his skin is crawling.

"What?" He asks, turning to meet his stare.

Derek's whole face is lit up with a warm smile resting on his sealed lips. There's a special glow in his eyes. Stiles can't recall ever seeing something so beautiful in his life.

"You, um," he mumbles, the corners of his mouth twitching. Stiles catches a glimpse of his pointy canines. "You got something on your face."

Stiles' hand immediately shoots up to try and get rid of it, cursing internally because that's just his luck. He doesn't seem to do a very good job of it, however, because Derek's smile just grows wider as he shakes his head.

"Here, let me," he offers, and Stiles goes instantly still when Derek reaches out with his hand toward him. Derek swipes his thumb over Stiles' cheek, cleaning it from what appears to be ketchup once he pulls back enough for Stiles to see the color on his finger.

Stiles is just about to laugh off the embarrassment when Derek easily sticks the tip of his thumb into his mouth and licks it clean, and then all he can do is stare.

The next second it's as if Derek suddenly realizes what he just did, and both of them remembering the people around them, and freezes. Stiles turns his head to find some of the others watching them with wide eyes again, but casually looks elsewhere the moment they're busted. Derek clears his throat and returns to his food. Stiles sees Ethan's look of surprise before he hurriedly looks away, too.

 

 

 

 

Stiles is seriously considering going for the razor again.

They're still at the wolves' camp; the guys playing a lazy game of soccer where Yoda is the most interested in keeping the ball while the girls have gone down to the beach. It's not the same kind of heat as back home, it's dryer somehow, but the roots of Stiles' hair still get damp with sweat. He runs his fingers through the mess on his head, pulling a face at the discomfort.

"Seriously?" Boyd asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Stiles sends him a sarcastic glare, kicking the ball hard in his direction.

"I'm not used to this kind of heat, okay?"

"And you think we are?" Ethan snorts. "We sometimes get snow in winter for god's sake."

"You're wearing leather jackets in the summer."

"You were pretty happy you had one the other day," Aiden reminds him.

"The sun was about to set," Stiles argues. "No one in their right mind could wear them in this temperature in the middle of the day and not pass out."

"We weren't going very fast that time though," Danny points out.

"Yeah, wait till you pass 70 miles per hour. Then the blazing sun won't matter. I bet you'd even chatter teeth at the end of it."

Stiles knows a challenge when he hears one.

"Ten bucks?"

Aiden looks surprised, clearly not expecting that comeback. Around them the others chuckle amusingly, slowly realizing that Stiles is being serious. Eventually, Aiden rolls his neck thoughtfully before nodding, accepting.

"Fine. Ten bucks."

There's a moment when they all exchange looks. Stiles sees Scott grinning in the corner of his eye.

"Well," Ethan says eventually, stopping the ball under his foot. "I was going to suggest a ride sometime today anyway. I'll go see if the ladies want in," he says, twirling around and leaving the ball in the fate of Yoda's paws.

Stiles swallows, feeling excitement stir in his gut. He looks to his right and locks eyes with Derek who's watching him already with a weak smile. He looks _impressed_.

"Since you don't have a bike," he starts, crossing his arms over his chest as he starts walking toward him, "Or a driver's licence," he continues with an arched eyebrow. "I'm assuming you need a ride."

 

 

 

 

As they're mounting up, Derek hands Stiles a jacket and pair of gloves along with a helmet. It's not his, because he's already dressed in his own set of leather.

"They're Aiden's," Derek explains, as if he read Stiles' mind.

Stiles nods and takes them from Derek's hands. He puts the jacket on and immediately notices how much smaller it is from Derek's.

"Helmet this time, huh?" He asks, turning it in his hands.

"Well, obviously we'll be going faster this time," Derek counters, sarcasm thick in his voice and Stiles can't keep himself from smiling at it. He straddles the Harley and sinks his weight down on the seat.

"So you're sticking to the safety rules," Stiles nods. "I'm surprised, and maybe a little disappointed."

"I thought you were supposed to be the sheriff's kid?" Isaac snickers to their left, where both he and Scott are already comfortably sitting on his bike.

Stiles shrugs. "Doesn't exactly make me a law abiding citizen by nature."

Isaac laughs, and Stiles sees Derek's teeth flash before he puts the helmet on. Stiles does the same, fumbling with it a bit because he's never worn one this big before. Isaac and Ethan start their engines and Stiles climbs onto his spot behind Derek so he can do the same.

There's no space between them this time.

When Derek accelerates as they get out of the parking lot and doesn't stop, Stiles doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Derek's waist. The layers of leather and loud noise make it impossible for him to know Derek's reaction, but he does this little tilt with his head – just like Stiles had done last night to acknowledge the presence and touch. Stiles smiles, scooting forward on the seat to bring their bodies closer together, the edge of his helmet bumping against Derek's shoulder.

It's even more like riding a rollercoaster this time, except there aren't any safety belts but only Derek for him to hold on to. The leather and helmet are shielding him from most of the harsh wind, but he can still feel it go straight through the fabric of his jeans. He thinks they're going really fast already, the wind forcing him to narrow his eyes, but then Derek suddenly reaches down to tap on Stiles' grip around him.

"Hold on tight," he nearly shouts over the sound of the roaring engines and wind. "We're going faster. Pull down the lid."

Stiles nods, feeling the butterflies in his stomach go insane, unable to call back. He quickly reaches up with one hand to close the plastic lid to cover his eyes before tightening his hold around Derek as the bike speeds up even further.

The pressure of the wind grows even stronger, and Stiles holds himself in place almost desperately as everything around him turns into blurry lines of color. He takes shelter behind Derek's head that shields him from the harsh wind, wondering how the hell Derek deals with it. There's a black shape of a wolf on the back of Derek's helmet, and if it hadn't been for the fact that it probably would've made him lose his balance and fall to his death, Stiles would've rolled his eyes.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the review mirror just above Derek's shoulder, and he can't help but grin at the sight of himself. It's all so surreal.

Since it's only late afternoon and with the sun still blazing, the road is a lot busier than the other night. The occasional bypassing car or truck forces them to stick to their side of the road. Ethan comes up to their left in a gap between two cars, however, leaning slightly forward on Aiden's Augusta with Danny behind him. They fall back into the right lane in front of Derek, and Stiles is pretty sure he can hear Ethan make some kind of war cry despite the whistling wind in his ears.

Now and then Stiles gets reminded how he'd probably get knocked off the bike in this speed if it wasn't for his tight grip around Derek, and it makes him clutch a little harder.

It's too fast, too free, too dangerous, and it's _perfect_.

 

 

 

 

Aiden wins the bet.

Stiles is shaking from head to toe when they return to the campground, nearly falling over when jumping off the bike. This time Laura isn't there to catch him. Scott isn't much better, looking as if his knees are about to give in when he lands on firm ground again. Stiles attempts a smile, but with all the teeth chattering going on he's not sure how it turns out.

The campsite is completely abandoned, and Ethan texts Laura to find out where they've gone off to.

Derek offers Stiles to borrow one of his hoodies, and Stiles nods jerkily in response. He ducks into one of the tents and comes back with the one with the Harley Davidson logo he wore the other night. Stiles can't stop himself from nuzzling into it when he puts it on, apparently failing with trying to be subtle judging from Derek's chuckle. The hoodie is warm and softly worn-out, and Stiles loves it. It smells like Derek, and he gets a weird tingle in his gut when he realizes he knows his scent now.

Ethan shouts and announces that the others are down by the restaurant.

The sun is low in the sky, about to hide behind the mountains again. Despite it being more or less the same temperature as when they left, Stiles is still freezing even without the constant wind. His teeth are still chattering when they reach the restaurant's porch and find the others by a table. Aiden only needs one look at him before a big and satisfied grin creeps up on his face.

"Here they come," Laura exclaims. "Was it fun?"

Stiles notices several eyes on him and figures they must've noticed the hoodie he's wearing that's too big for his slim body and probably well familiar to the rest of the gang. He ignores it, nodding to Laura's question and sinks into a chair. He feels round under his feet somehow, as if the flat surfaces beneath his feet are alien.

"Where's Yoda?" He manages to ask.

"In the RV," Lydia informs him and Stiles only then notices Aiden's hand on her knee.

They order dinner and drinks and stay there until the sky gets darker and the sun is completely gone. Once again the calm atmosphere falls over them.

"You guys really don't act like typical New Yorkers," Danny points out.

"What, because we walk and don't run everywhere?" Laura chuckles.

"Well, yeah," Danny scoffs. "You're just so... chill. Most people from big cities usually stress out of habit."

"Actually, I'm from London," Isaac interjects, as if his accent doesn't give him away.

Aiden snorts. "As if that's any less stressful."

They laugh. Scott's knee bumps against Isaac's.

"I think that's why we like to take off like this from time to time," Laura says after a pause, sounding thoughtful. "I for one think it's nice to get away from all the skyscrapers and roaring car alarms every once in a while. Just—" She shrugs lightly. "Just feel free."

The gang hums in agreement. Stiles feels himself smiling, slowly glancing over to Derek to find him nodding quietly at his sister's words. With the sun gone and only the lights from the restaurant to light up their faces, Derek looks... different. He's put on another one of his hoodies, leaning back in his chair with his legs spread; no longer looking like the tough leader of a biker gang but more like a teddy bear. Stiles feels the sudden urge to just crawl into his lap and snuggle into his everything and feel that soft scruff against his cheek again.

But that's most likely against the rules, if there even are any.

 

 

 

 

It's past midnight by the time they head back to their individual camps.

"I better take Yoda for a walk," Stiles sighs, just when the two groups are about to part. "He's probably jumping in his skin from being locked up in there for so long."

"You better," Danny agrees, "Or I won't get any sleep at all. Did you know he howls when he's restless?"

"He always does that when Stiles isn't home," Scott says, talking from experience.

"Because he misses you, obviously," Ethan says, elbowing Stiles lazily. "Wolves howl to signal their location to the rest of the pack, you know."

The next second they all go quiet when they hear a muffled howl coming from their RV not far away. They burst out laughing while Laura coos and awes.

"Yeah, I _definitely_ gotta take care of him before I pass out," Stiles sighs more dramatic than before.

"Can I join you?" Derek asks, appearing at his side.

Stiles feels his heart violently skip a beat. "Sure," he says, maybe a little too quickly.

Derek stays behind on the road while Stiles go with the others back to the RV. Yoda throws himself on them as soon as they open the door, and Stiles drags him outside to take all the hits from his paws and tongue while putting on the leash.

"Have fun," Lydia whispers, standing in the door with a suggestive smirk on her lips.

"It's a _walk_ ," Stiles hisses.

She just rolls her eyes and closes the door.

Derek has barely moved when Stiles returns with Yoda in tow. He crouches down to greet the husky who seems absolutely euphoric to see him again. Stiles feels a stupid grin on his face when watching them; unable not to smile at how fast Yoda wags his tail or how smoothly Derek's hands travel through his fur.

"So where to?" He asks once Derek is back on his feet.

Derek shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Maybe you could show me that route around the lake?"

"Dude, that takes like an hour to walk," Stiles points out.

"You got somewhere to be?" Derek asks, voice low.

Stiles opens his mouth, but there's no good answer to that.

"No."

 

 

 

 

The path is dark and just barely visible in the light from the night sky. The lake lies like a big mirror; its surface still and undisturbed, reflecting the half moon and sparkling stars above. It's quiet; no sound from the campground behind them or birds screeching in the air, just the rustling from the soft wind in the grass.

Stiles almost trips on roots and rocks he can't see a dozen times. He and Derek are walking side by side on the small path, shoulders occasionally bumping against each other. Every time they do, Stiles is happy the darkness keeps his flushed face a secret.

Yoda is trotting excitedly next to them, as far into the bushes as the length of the leash allows. He's calmed himself down somewhat once they started walking, but is still actively pulling on the one thing depriving him of his freedom. Stiles tries to steel himself at each pull not to lose balance.

"Mind if I take him for a bit?" Derek asks, breaking the silence.

"Not at all," Stiles replies, pulling Yoda in a little bit before handing Derek his end of the leash. The pads of Derek's fingers brush over his palm when he takes it from him.

Derek makes Yoda move to his side of the path, stopping to lift the collar higher on the dog's neck until it's right around his throat. He folds the long leash in his hand, only leaving a short part of it between him and Yoda as he starts walking again.

Stiles blinks, keeping up steps with them. Yoda walks nicely by Derek's side without pulling at all.

"How did you do that?" He asks, only feeling a little ashamed for not being able to walk his own dog this decently on his own. "Are you a freaking dog whisperer or what?"

Derek chuckles. It's so smooth and fluid and makes Stiles feel all fuzzy inside.

"No," he says." I just... love working with dogs." He shrugs almost shyly.

Stiles huffs, amazed by how Yoda stays in position with his head high, not even trying to lean down to sniff at the otherwise oh-so-interesting ground. If Stiles' dad could see him now he wouldn't believe it's the same dog.

"I got him for my tenth birthday," he explains, because it suddenly comes to mind. "It was right after my mom died. Not to replace her or anything," he hurries to clarify. "Just— He wanted to give me something to focus on. Which was great, because I really need that sometimes."

Derek doesn't reply, just stays silent for a moment, during which Stiles curses himself for probably talking when he should just shut up. He knows the usual reaction to this, and he doesn't want to hear it from Derek. People tell him that they're sorry because that's all they can come up with as an acceptable answer for him mentioning his mother. It's not what he wants to hear, not what he wants Derek to say just to be polite and because he blurts out things without thinking ahead sometimes.

"How do you do that?" Derek eventually murmurs instead.

"What?" Stiles asks, surprised.

"Just... say things so easily," Derek says, voice still low. "Words just burst out of you without any effort of holding them back."

Stiles hesitates for a second. "Should I be holding them back?"

"You don't know me," Derek points out, meeting his gaze.

It shouldn't hit Stiles as hard as it does to be reminded of that. He knows it's true. He doesn't know Derek, not really, but in a world not bigger than the campground they share it's so easy to forget.

"And I'm trying to change that," Stiles says, heart in his throat. "Hence the bursting."

Derek keeps his eyes on him for a little longer, looking as if he wants to protest but doesn't come up with anything good to say. Eventually he just looks forward again, hand absently nudging Yoda as they walk on. Stiles swallows, but the silence that follows is far from an uncomfortable one.

By the time they arrive back at the campground, the restaurant's lights are out and there's not a single person in sight. Stiles has no idea what the time is, but it must be somewhere in the early morning hours. Yoda is far from his ordinary hyper-self, having travelled between Stiles and Derek's hands over the last hour. He's walking right next to Stiles with his head low and the leash hanging slack, looking as tired as Stiles feels.

Which is why he's caught completely off guard when they cross the beach and Yoda spots a bird in the ground water, and throws himself at it in a heartbeat. Stiles doesn't register what's happening until he's lying flat on his stomach on the shore, Yoda wading out in the water with the end of the leash getting dragged behind.

"Crap," Stiles mutters, feeling embarrassed and quickly gets to his feet while Derek goes after Yoda. Stiles groans, straightening up. His shorts are damp and covered in sand, and so is Derek's hoodie. _Great_.

"You okay?" Derek asks, pulling Yoda out of the water.

"Yeah," Stiles hurries to say, letting out an awkward chuckle. "I'll just– I'm just gonna take him back to camp."

"I'll wait here," Derek says.

Stiles pauses for a second, having expected this to be a horrible end to the night.

"Oh, uh, okay."

He may or may not run back to the RV. Yoda looks confused, trotting beside him with his wagging tail. Stiles rips the door open and practically shoves the dog inside, not even bothering to take off the leash. Yoda's pelt is wet and dirty but Stiles tells himself he'll take care of it in the morning.

Derek isn't waiting on the beach when Stiles rushes back. He's standing by the shower building. There's a lamp on the wall by the entrance, the only proper light in the dark night. Derek is standing right under it, making his face finally visible again.

"Sorry about your hoodie," Stiles says as soon as he reaches him.

Derek snorts softly and shrugs. "It's just a hoodie."

Stiles swallows, nodding. He still feels like a total idiot, and he's still covered in wet spots of sand and mud. He shifts in place, feeling the damp fabric sticking to his skin in the most uncomfortable way.

"I could really use a shower," he mumbles, eyes drifting over the wall.

"What's stopping you?" Derek asks, face unreadable.

Stiles hesitates. "Aren't they closed during night?"

Derek shakes his head. "No," he says, voice low. He takes one step closer to Stiles, walking further from the light and Stiles watches his eyes grow darker, _deeper_ somehow. "There's just no one here."

There's something almost _suggestive_ in the way he says it, and it causes Stiles' heart to jolt violently.

"Oh," he says – _breathes_ – because that's his exact reaction.

Derek remains motionless for a moment, gaze darting between Stiles' eyes, his own dark and deep and Stiles has never felt so exposed while still being fully dressed. Then Derek finally moves, stepping into Stiles' personal space and fills his nose with his warm scent. Hands come up to grab the damp fabric of the hoodie, still moving forward. Stiles lets out a heavy breath, giving in to Derek's strong hands and lets himself be backed up and crowded against the wall.

The second the solid wood hits Stiles' back, he's ready to pass out from the excitement and anxiety colliding within him. But then Derek leans in, claiming Stiles' mouth with his in a hard kiss and steals Stiles' breath right out of his chest.  He cannot be held responsible for the noises escaping him.

It's not gentle. Derek covers Stiles' body with his, pinning him against the wall and pressing against him. He parts his lips almost immediately, hot tongue seeking its way into Stiles' mouth to deepen the kiss. His hands are still clutching at the hoodie, pulling and pushing without any proper coordination, clearly not caring that it's covered in mud.

Stiles melts against him, mouth falling open and returns Derek's burning kisses with everything he's got. The blood in his veins goes hot and floods south, making his hips jerk forward by pure instinct. He's trapped between the two firm points that are the wall and Derek's front, but still tries to press himself onto Derek's body, using his elbows against the wall for leverage.

Their hips collide when Derek rocks forward, and Stiles groans into the kiss when he feels the bulge press against his groin, their bodies perfectly aligned. He reaches up with his hands, grabbing Derek's huge biceps just to hold on to _something_. His palms are still dirty, smearing wet sand over Derek's smooth skin, but neither of them seems to care. Derek makes a sound somewhere in the back of his throat, and it reminds Stiles of a growl. It sends a vibration down Stiles' own throat, making his whole body tingle.

Derek starts tugging at the hoodie Stiles' is wearing more purposely, hands finally slipping under the hem and yanking it upwards as if trying to take it off. Fresh air curls over Stiles exposed hip, skin still damp and chilly in the wind. He moans desperately, exhaling loudly through his nose under Derek's touch, not sure if he means to urge Derek forward or protest.

He wants Derek, wants him more than he's ever wanted anyone in his life, and the strong desire to _have_ him is overwhelming enough for Stiles' breath to catch. He angles his head slightly to be able to suck in a sharp take of air, panting against Derek's mouth that's still chasing him. Their ragged breaths are hot and such a contrast to the chilly wind all around them that Stiles can't help but shudder. Derek catches Stiles' bottom lip in his mouth, sucking on it as if he just couldn't stop.

A sudden noise somewhere in the distance startles them both, making Derek grunt and Stiles flinch, and this time the kiss is interrupted for real. For a split second Stiles can't hear anything beyond his pounding heart, or the blood rushing in his ears, but then he manage to picks up the sound of voices approaching from the other side of the building, heading their way. Looks they're not the only ones still awake.

With a soft sigh, Derek steps back. His breath is uneven, chest heaving, but not as bad as Stiles'. He lets out a quiet chuckle, ducking his head as he gets out of Stiles' face. He looks _disappointed_ and Stiles can't help but stare at his kiss-bruised lips, knowing _he_ did that.

"You should take that shower," Derek murmurs, dropping his hands from Stiles' body. He lifts his gaze again, meeting Stiles' eyes for a few seconds. His pupils are blown. "See you tomorrow."

Then he's gone, walking out of the light and melting away into the darkness.

Stiles remains where he is, back still against the wall and unable to move for a long time. His heart is going insane; slamming against his ribcage like it wants to escape, refusing to slow down. It's not until the group of three people shows up around the corner that he manages to straighten up and make his way into the showers, head still spinning and mind still racing.

When he returns to the RV later – after a very cold shower – he doesn't expect to be able to asleep at all, but he drifts off almost as soon as he lands on his stomach on the raw mattress.

 


	5. Wednesday

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

Stiles wakes up the next morning to someone pulling on his arm, which is so foreign to him because last time he'd needed help waking up in the morning was back in elementary school, when his dad used to take his comforter and walk out of the room.

"Dude," says a not-so-happy-sounding Danny from somewhere to his right, and when Stiles turns his head he finds him standing right beside the bunk bed. "Take care of your dog."

Stiles blinks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, still confused from the abrupt awakening.

"What?"

"Stiles," Lydia says, standing up so she comes into his line of sight, her voice a lot calmer than Danny's. "Is there a reason your dog is tracking mud on my carpet, and Derek's hoodie is in our laundry basket, along with your sheets?"

Memories from last night return back to him in a flash, making his stomach knot and his heart pound. It's overwhelming, knowing they are indeed _memories_ and not dreams. He let his eyes dart over the room, blinking and trying to clear his head from the foggy sleep. What time is it?

"Um," he says, focusing his vision on the two people standing by his bed. Scott and Allison are sitting on the edge of Scott's bed behind them, looking as if they would be interested in his answer as well. "There might be," he finally replies, shifting into a seated position.

"Which is?" Lydia pushes while Danny just rolls his eyes.

"Something happened last night," Allison says, and there's more amused realization than question in her tone. "Didn't it?"

Even Danny turns back to look at him again, and Stiles bends his arm in an awkward angle to scratch his back and pull a face, both at the attention and pain from the position he was sleeping in.

"I thought it was just a walk?" Lydia reminds him with a sly smile.

"It _was_ a walk," Stiles insists.

"Late at night, with a guy you danced with only two nights ago," Scott adds.

"What did you do?" Danny asks, looking more interested than pissed now.

"I won't kiss and tell," Stiles says, realizing what he just gave away and breathes out, "Crap."

The others chuckle softly. Scott is beaming. None of them seems very surprised, and Stiles thinks that maybe it was bound to happen. He feels his face go hot so he looks away from their smug faces and climbs down to try and find his runner shorts.

He doesn't expect them to leave it alone, but Danny walks out of the room with a final sigh, muttering something about wanting to catch some more sleep if Stiles could just get the damn dog out of his face.

"So how was it?" Scott asks, still sitting on his bed with a stupid smile on his face.

"Dirty. Literally," Stiles adds when his friend's eyebrows shoots up. "I was covered in mud."

"Charming," Lydia says sarcastically, typing away on her phone without looking up.

"It was perfect," Stiles defends, because it really, really was and no one can take that away from him.

 

 

 

 

Yoda is not as hyper as usual, still a little worn-out from the late walk last night, but Stiles still brings him on his run. He's also still covered in dry sand, and Stiles actually feels bad about that. He'll most definitely get to cleaning Lydia's carpet and Danny's sheets when he gets back.

The temperature has increased a little too much at this time for Stiles' liking. There's a reason he enjoys running on early mornings, when the sun is still hiding behind the mountains, and not broiling like it is now closer to noon. Sweat drops are already covering his forehead when he reaches the start of the trail, picking up his pace to a fast jog.

He maintains a steady speed for a few minutes before stopping to let Yoda sniff at a bush on the top of the first hill. He swipes the back of his hand across his face, wishing he'd brought a sweatband, and rests both hands on his hips. Yoda suddenly lifts his head from the ground, eyes and ears on alert and twitching toward the path they came from. Stiles frowns, but only a second later he hears it too: the thudding sound of quick footsteps approaching, and turns around to look for himself.

Part of him is not surprised to see that it's Derek, but that doesn't stop his stomach from twisting upon seeing him. He's wearing a pair of black shorts that show off more of his legs than his swim trunks ever did, and another tank top that might as well have been painted on his body. He's running faster than Stiles' normal pace, and got an untroubled smile resting on his lips when their gazes meet. Stiles scoffs despite himself. He's been hoping to run into Derek on one of his runs for the past few days, and now when it's actually happening he's got no clue how to handle it.

But in his defense he never expected them to part ways the way they did last night.

Derek makes it up the hill before he slows down to a walk. Yoda lets out something close to a short howl, excited as ever and throws himself forward to greet him, no longer interested in the bushes. Derek huffs, out of breath, and crouches down to pet the dog.

"So is this just a big coincidence, or..?" Stiles asks.

"Not really," Derek admits, standing up and wiping his sandy hands on his shorts.

His hair is a mess, all tousled and adorable. It's glistening with sweat, but that doesn't stop Stiles from wanting to run his fingers through it.

"How did you know I was gonna be here?" Stiles asks. "I'm actually kind of late."

Derek shrugs. "Aiden and Lydia text a lot."

"Oh." Stiles blinks. _Huh_.

"Do you mind?" Derek asks. "I can go on by myself if you—"

"No," Stiles assures, quickly shaking his head. "It's great. It's fine."

Derek smiles, all blinding teeth. "Alright. Lead the way."

Stiles hauls Yoda in and starts jogging down the path again with Derek falling into steps at his side. He's troubled for a moment while considering how fast he should go, but drops his anxiety when noticing Derek matching his pace without a word. A stupid smile creeps onto his lips when he sees how they're actually running in perfect sync.

A comfortable silence falls between them as they continue up the hill. It's far from what Stiles had expected. He's not sure why he's been daydreaming about running with Derek this week because going for a run with someone else is usually a real pain.

(He'd tried dragging asthmatic Scott along once and it had ended with Melissa grounding _both_ of them. Jackson always manages to turn it into a race and has Stiles ready to pass out by the end of it. Danny is nice but he talks a lot, which is something Stiles wouldn't mind if it wasn't so exhausting.)

Once again Derek doesn't mind the peace and quiet, and Stiles isn't sure he's ever going to stop being amazed by that. It's funny how much Derek has changed in his eyes over the course of just a few days. What he'd thought was a big guy who would never waste his time on someone like him had turned out to like watching sunsets and take late nights walks by the beach and play with puppies.

Their arms brush occasionally, staying close side to side on the path. Stiles' heart can't help but lose its rhythm now and then, making it just a little harder to breathe while running. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead, certain that if he'll risk a glance at Derek he's going to stumble and fall. He's still perfectly aware of him in the corner of his eye, however, registering the way his breath comes out in short pants through his parted lips and how his hair bounces freely with each synchronized step.

Yoda runs happily on the side of the trail, turning his head to look at them every so often as if to make sure they're keeping up. The sheer excitement is so evident in the dog's expression that Stiles can't help but snort in laughter. He sees Derek glance over at him with a smile of his own, but he doesn't look back.

When they reach the other side of the lake, right across from the campground's beach, the husky heads for the bay and eagerly tries to wade out in the water. Stiles slows down and comes to a stop to grab the leash with both hands.

"You can probably let him loose," Derek says, breathing heavily when stopping beside him.

Stiles scoffs. "That's what Danny said on our first day here, and look how that went."

Derek's mouth twitches, eyes still on Yoda. "When he ran straight to me?"

Stiles' heart skips. "Yeah."

"Are you complaining?" Derek asks, looking up to seek his gaze.

Finally, Stiles turns his head to let their eyes meet. "No," he says honestly. "I just don't need him to find any more sexy bikers."

That probably came across more like _there are seven of you and that's enough_ than _you're the only one I want_ as intended, but Derek still laughs. The sight of those canines' makes Stiles suck in a breath, huffing to cover up how easily he's affected by Derek's… well, everything.

"At least he'll get rid of the sand," Stiles decides with a sigh, crouching down to set the dog free, and hears Derek chuckle above him.

Yoda runs straight into the water with such force he nearly falls, tail wagging until he's knee-deep and his thick pelt gets too heavy. He wades a bit further out, ducking his head to drink now and then. His tongue is still hanging out of his mouth from the heat, but this will surely help him cool down.

Stiles' heart is in his throat when he straightens back up, and for good reason; Derek is already watching him. In the corner of his eye. He waits one, two, three seconds before looking back. Derek's face lights up in a smile as soon as he does, those wrinkles around his eyes enough to make Stiles swallow.

"Sorry about last night," he says, and for a moment Stiles is very confused before he continues. "It didn't end the way I wanted it too."

Stiles exhales through his nose, thinking that maybe he hadn't been the only one thinking Derek would've helped undress him and followed him into the showers if they hadn't been interrupted. It's impossible to even think about it without his blood rushing south.

"I'm not complaining," he points out, because despite how much he'd hoped for shower sex last night, maybe he would've made a fool out of himself when being that drunk on arousal. What had happened had been mind-blowing enough – even if he'd walked into the showers with blue balls afterwards.

Derek hums, eyes flickering across his face. Stiles doesn't move, just lets Derek watch him with those intense eyes of his. Not that he's looking any less at Derek in return. He can't even tell how much time passed by before Derek finally steps closer, turning to him properly and reaching up to cup Stiles' cheek with one hand as he leans in.

Their lips meet in a kiss much softer than their first one. Derek's thumb strokes Stiles' jaw, tilting his head up gently. Stiles is already short of breath due to the running, exhaling through his nose to keep himself from having to break away. Derek's mouth is so warm, so soft, and he tastes differently from last night. He smells of sweat and sun, and Stiles should probably not like it as much as he does. The big hand on his face makes him shiver and let out a low groan into the kiss. He can feel the corners of Derek's mouth pull up in a smile, but he only leans further into Stiles.

Daringly, Stiles reaches out to let his hands rest on Derek's sides, digging his fingers into the muscles beneath the tank top. He's far from an experienced kisser, and he's not sure if that's a good place to put his hands, but judging from the soft hum coming from Derek, he probably made a good call. He's held around Derek's waist before, but only from behind and for entirely other reasons.

It soon turns greedy; their wet mouths and hot tongues sliding together to the rhythm of Stiles' throbbing heart. Derek's hand that isn't caressing Stiles' jaw comes to settle on his hip, and an embarrassing sound of excitement emerges from Stiles' throat and he finally has to break apart to catch his breath.

He doesn't move away though, only tilts his head down to rest his forehead against Derek's and let his eyelids fall shut. They're still close enough for their heavy breaths to get mixed, still sharing air. Derek doesn't push him, seeming just as much in need of a break as Stiles.

When Stiles opens his eyes again, his gaze immediately falls on Derek's swollen lips _. I did that_ , he can't help thinking with a rush of pride. It's just as much proof of what just happened as the feeling of Derek's stubble still lingering around Stiles' mouth.

Maybe he should say something. Maybe he should continue shutting up.

But he doesn't need to dwell on it for long, because the next second Yoda is standing next to them, dripping wet, and starts shaking his pelt dry. A shower of cold water hits them by surprise and makes them both flinch away from each other, Derek inhaling sharply in shock. Then he dips his head back and laughs his adorable laugh, and once again Stiles is conflicted whether he loves or hates his dog. He's just as much of a wingman as a cockblock, it seems.

"Guess he'd like to keep going," Derek says with a smirk, wiping his face with the back of his hand that was touching Stiles' face only moments ago.

Stiles manages to nod, telling his system to relax, and puts an end to Yoda's freedom.

They still don't say much on the last half of the run, but now and then Stiles catches Derek glancing over at him, and this time he seeks to meet his gaze every time. They maintain eye-contact for a moment before one of them looks away. They're taking turns. At one point Stiles thinks he can see Derek's face flush red as he huffs and darts his eyes away, but it might just be the heat.

When they eventually get back to the campground, Stiles starts freaking out over the fact that both of them are in desperate need of a shower. His hair is damp from sweat and his shirt is uncomfortably clinging to his upper body.

"That was a good run," Derek says once they've slowed down, his voice raspy and out of breath.

They come to a stop in the crossroad above the restaurant; as far as they can go before having to split up and return to their individual camps.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "Thanks."

Derek gives him a simple smile, mouth closed and no blinding teeth. His forehead is glistening and there are even sweat drops in his damn eyebrows. Stiles thinks it should be illegal to be that good-looking after a workout. Or in general.

"I guess I'll see you around," he says, taking one step in direction of the RV.

"Yeah, you tend to pop up," Derek shrugs.

Stiles scoffs in surprise, stopping dead in his tracks to stare at Derek's smirk.

" _You're_ the one who keeps popping up!" He persists.

Derek wiggles his eyebrows, ducking his head. He takes one step closer, erasing what little distance Stiles had put between them. Stiles stands perfectly still, not sure what he should be expecting here in the middle of the campground with people swarming around them. If Derek's withdrawal last night is any indication, he's not a bit fan of public kissing.

"Perhaps we should agree," he rumbles, lifting his eyes back up to lock with Stiles', "That neither of us can stay away."

Stiles swallows, wondering how a human body can handle this much adrenaline without shutting down. "Yeah," he replies, not sure there's much else to say.

Derek nods, eyes darting over Stiles' face for a moment longer before he seems to acknowledge all the people surrounding them and drops his gaze as he backs away. Stiles' fingers itch with the urge to reach out and pull him back in, but he resists.

"See ya, Stiles," Derek says, turning away.

"Definitely," Stiles shoots back, and he doesn't miss the flash of Derek's teeth before he trots off.

 

 

 

 

Derek isn't in the showers by the time Stiles gets there. He can't decide if he's disappointed or relieved.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long until they do see each other again. Around lunchtime Stiles and Danny are sitting in the grass outside the RV with Yoda lying on his back squeezed in between them, demanding belly rubs. It's the first time Stiles doesn't object to sitting in the sun.

"Not mad at him anymore?" Stiles asks when Danny bends down to nuzzle the dog lovingly.

Danny snorts. "He's not covered in dirt anymore and isn't in my bed," he points out. "Besides, I was never mad at _him_. Only at you."

"Does that mean you're still upset with me then?" Stiles asks. "Because I don't see you rubbing _my_ belly."

"You don't need my help for that," Danny smirks.

Stiles blushes and returns Danny's playful elbow with a huff.

Lydia had gone off somewhere a while ago, but Stiles can't remember where to exactly. She'd called something to him when she waved goodbye, but he'd only absently responded. He feels pretty out of it overall today, as if his mind was somewhere else. It probably is, too, because his thoughts keep drifting until he can feel the pressure of Derek's hand on his jaw again, and the ghost of his soft lips brushing over his. It's frustrating and freaking amazing at the same time.

He lets out a heavy sigh, hand scratching Yoda's chest while letting his eyes sweep over their surroundings. It's in the middle of the day and as always the place is anything but quiet. People are running between the beach and their camps, some of them still soaking and others already dried from the blazing sun. The air smells of barbecue and makes Stiles' stomach growl. If only Allison could get back from the grocery store faster…

He spots Isaac first, because he's so damn tall and the only one wearing sunglasses. Then he notices Scott by Isaac's side with Laura, Ethan, Boyd and Erica in tow. They're all looking in his direction and Laura raises a hand to wave when seeing he's spotted them.

"Hey," Stiles says to catch Danny's attention, nodding for him to look over his shoulder.

He does, then turns back to give Stiles an amused grin. "Can't say I'm surprised," he mumbles, as the group is still out of hearing range.

Stiles can't say he is either, and he's _so_ not complaining.

As the approaching party comes closer, Stiles can see they're carrying what appears to be loads of food. (Seriously, these guys eat a lot of meat.) Ethan's got an eight-pack of beer, and Scott and Isaac both have their hands full of skewers. Yoda freezes for a second before swirling around to get on his paws to run and meet them. Laura goes as usual down on her knees to keep him from jumping on the others.

"We invited ourselves for some late lunch," Ethan explains when he reaches Stiles and Danny who also got to their feet, but only walks past them to put the beers on the table.

"But we brought our own stuff," Boyd clarifies.

"And Scott said you wouldn't mind," Isaac adds.

Stiles' gaze darts to Scott who looks both apologetic and smug at the same time. For good reasons, too. A few days ago he would've hated Scott for inviting them and being forced to suffer through having Derek's hot piece of ass around, taunting him like a big _see but do not touch,_ but that was before he learned that it's actually _see and touch_. Scott knows this, hence the smug.

Only problem is that Derek is nowhere to be found, and Stiles immediately locks eyes with Laura once Yoda has calmed down enough to let her join them. He wants to ask, but at the same time he doesn't.

"He'll be right here, sweetie," she says before he's even opened his mouth, giving him a knowing smile. "He's just helping Aiden with something on his bike."

"Oh," Stiles says, when he really means 'thanks'.

"Where's Allison?" Scott asks, looking around.

"She's not back yet," Danny replies.

"Yes, she is!" Sings someone in the distance, and they all turn their heads to see Allison coming from the parking lot, plastic bags in her hands.

Scott drops the skewers next to their campfire and goes to meet her, offering to help with the groceries but she declines. She does, however, accept the kiss he places on her cheek.

"Perfect timing," Isaac comments with a sly smile.

Allison makes sure to walk close enough for their arms to brush when she passes him.

"What about Lydia?" Erica asks while unwrapping the packages of food they brought.

"She went looking for Wi-Fi," Danny says, then shrugs. "I have no idea what for."

 _Right_ , Stiles thinks to himself, suddenly recalling her saying something about that.

They start a fire and Isaac takes charge of the cooking. He's good at it so no one is complaining. They place the bars from Lydia's grill over the fire and put together their own skewers of chicken and meat and vegetables. The small surface quickly gets covered, so they also put the sticks they used for the marshmallows the other night to good use to hold sausages above the heat.

Stiles is crouching by the fire, busy assisting Isaac in turning the food so it won't burn, and is taken by surprise when someone walks up on him from behind. He hears footsteps approaching, but figures it's probably just Scott or Boyd or anyone else out of his line of sight. But then said someone crouches down right behind him, close enough for Stiles to feel body heat, and smoothly loops one arm around his waist. He looks over his shoulder and finds Derek's face only inches away. His hair is back in place and his skin no longer damp or flushed. He doesn't smell of sweat and sun but of his sweet cologne and flowers.

"Hey, little red," he rumbles with a soft smile.

Stiles blushes. He hadn't even realized he'd put on his second red shirt.

"Hey, creeper," he responds, making Derek huff out air into his face.

He glances at the others, wondering why no one called out to acknowledge Derek's presence, but upon seeing their amused smirks he understands why they didn't. Scott is even holding a firm grip on Yoda's collar, keeping the dog from throwing himself all over Derek.

Derek's eyes fall to his lips as he starts leaning in, and Stiles has a second to freak out over the fact that Derek is about to kiss him in front of everyone, and then Derek _is_ kissing him and Stiles forgets all about the audience.

The arm around him tightens as their mouths slide together, hand grasping the front of his shirt. Stiles is unfairly in no good position to put his hands on Derek. He wants to reach back and grab his hair, but is afraid to ruin it. All he can manage to do is tilt his head up and let out a humming noise that can't be heard but only vibrates down Derek's throat. Derek smiles against his lips before pulling back.

"I prepared some skewers for you, big guy," Ethan says, nodding to Derek. He seems a bit hesitant, as if unsure he's allowed to address him right now. "Figured you wanted a lot of meat."

Derek hums, scraping his cheek against Stiles'. "Thanks. I like meat."

"I don't think of us as a wolf pack without reason," Laura says.

Then Derek casually stands up, carefully withdrawing his arm as he does, and moves away to greet Yoda who's practically bouncing and fighting Scott's hands at this point. Stiles feels a little lightheaded and nearly loses his balance when Derek lets go of him. He catches Isaac's grin across the fire, but only returns it with a shrug. He's _not_ blushing.

"I forgot about the lack of chairs," Laura suddenly calls out.

"It's a campfire," Erica remarks. "The ground will do fine."

Lydia and Aiden show up a little while later, holding hands and looking very satisfied. Stiles suspect Aiden sought her out as soon as he and Derek were done with whatever they were doing with his bike. Judging by Lydia's ruffled hair they hadn't wasted what little time they had to themselves. Stiles is positive her hair had been as perfect as always when she left earlier.

Boyd and Erica hand everyone paper plates as they all sit down in the grass, forming an imperfect circle around the campfire. Isaac serves them their own skewers with a skilled hand and Laura orders everyone to take from their salad. ( _"It's the least we can do for invading your camp like this. Stop looking as if I'm punishing you, Scott!")_

Derek has barely sat down properly before Yoda snuggles up against his outstretched leg. Derek chuckles, switching his plate from one hand to the other to clap twice on the dog's belly. Stiles feels something ache in his chest from watching them. Then Derek looks up, their gazes immediately drawn to each other, and pats the ground between his sprawled legs in invitation. Stiles blinks, not sure if reading it right, but the steady smile on Derek's face is convincing enough. He tells his heart to stop jumping and goes to sit down and settles between Derek's legs, facing the group with Derek behind him.

"I have something to tell y'all," Lydia announces as the silence settles. Apparently she thought of them all stuffing their mouths with food as the perfect opportunity for her opening. "I'm going to Santa Fe to check out town and will be staying the night."

"What?" Scott asks with a mouthful, speaking for all of them.

"I haven't gone shopping in ages, okay?" She rolls her eyes. "And I've already booked a hotel room."

"I knew you'd crack eventually," Stiles teases.

"It's just for one night," Lydia argues. "To be convenient. And by the way, you could all come along. I'm sure I'm not the only one feeling like eating out and sleeping in a proper bed tonight."

"I'm in," Aiden says, and Stiles is quite certain that no one is surprised. After all; a hotel room will provide a lot more privacy than this place.

"Me too," Ethan joins in. "Sleeping somewhere else than those tents is enough to convince me." He turns to Danny, happily unaware of the guy's horrible snoring habits. "You game?"

"If there's shopping involved then count me in," Laura says.

Stiles can't help but shift in place, because it doesn't take a math genius to realize that the more wolves that jump aboard the Santa Fe train, the less will remain in camp for the night. Derek doesn't say anything, just keeps eating completely untroubled, and for some reason that makes Stiles only further nervous.

As it turns out, the only ones staying at the campground are Scott, Stiles, Allison, Derek and Isaac. Danny agrees to go with Ethan on Isaac's bike, and Laura volunteers to ride with Aiden as Lydia declines his offer to instead take Allison's car, and Boyd and Erica ask if they can get a ride.

It's impossible for Stiles not to acknowledge the fact of the ones remaining; two camps, two pairings.

 

 

 

 

"We should play a campfire game."

"It's too early for that," Ethan protests. "It's not even a little dark yet."

Lydia gives him a sharp look. "I want to be in Santa Fe while there's still daylight, so it's now or never. We'll all be too busy to do it tonight, anyway."

They've already finished eating, and the fire is slowly dying out. Yoda is licking their paper plates clean by Scott's feet, wagging his tail in sheer joy. He'd even licked the beer bottles before Boyd collected them.

Stiles is leaning back against Derek's chest, all cooped up between Derek's legs that have closed further around him since the meal ended. He's steadying his elbows comfortably on Derek's thighs, hands spread on his knees. His shorts don't reach down past his knees, and his skin is warm under Stiles' palms. Derek's arms are holding around Stiles' middle in a loose grip, his hot breath curling over the nape of Stiles' neck with his nose in Stiles' hair.

It's almost too hot to be pressed up against someone else's body like that, and it certainly doesn't help when Lydia's last comment makes Stiles' face burn and his heartbeat escalate. He expects Derek to react to the way he unconsciously curls into himself by the reminder of what may or may not happen tonight by huffing in his ear or squeezing him in his arms – anything to tease him for his obvious anxiety – but Derek doesn't move an inch.

"I've been wanting for a round of Truth or Dare since our second night," Laura confesses hopefully.

They all mumble in approval. Aiden looks like he's about to object, but keeps his mouth shut after one stern look from Lydia.

"How about you start then?" Ethan suggests from where he's slouching against Danny's side.

Laura shrugs. "Fine. Truth."

Ethan only consider for a short moment, then gestures toward the teens. "Any of these puppies you'd like to keep?"

"Hey!" Scott pretends to sound offended. "We're not _that_ young. Isaac is our age."

"Isaac totally is our puppy, though," Erica teases, sending him a smirk across the smoking fire pit.

Laura waits until their chuckles fade before she replies. "Yes."

"Who then?" Ethan urges.

"One question at a time," Laura says. "I don't have to answer that." She nudges Allison with her elbow. "Your turn, girl."

"Truth," Allison says.

"Aw, you're all playing safe," Ethan complains.

"We're too sober for dares, anyway," Aiden says bitterly, receiving a slap on his arm from his brother.

Derek suddenly ducks his head, leaning forward to brush his chin against the side of Stiles' neck. A shiver runs down Stiles' spine and his eyes flutter close for a second. Derek doesn't pull away like he expects, but instead settles to rest his chin on Stiles' shoulder. It's such an innocent action, and far smaller than any of the other touches they've shared, and yet it makes something tug at Stiles' heart unlike anything before. Their bodies are aligned very much like the night of the party, but still it doesn't feel the same. He can feel Derek's crotch against his lower back, but there's no bulge poking him. The arms wrapped around his waist don't make his blood rush south.

There are many times when Stiles wishes Derek would just jump him already, but this isn't one of them.

Once he manages to focus on anything other than Derek breathing into the curve of his neck, he notices that Allison has already answered her truth and moved on to Isaac.

"I guess I'd go with Ethan," Isaac decides with a pained sigh, and the others laugh so it must've been hilarious – if hearing the actual question. Stiles catches Derek's mouth twitch in amusement in the corner of his eye, however, and that's enough for him to smile, too.

Isaac asks Ethan next and he follows the others' lead on taking truth.

"Cutest guy in the lot?" Isaac suggests.

"Oh, come on," Aiden protests, throwing up his hands. "That one is obvious."

Danny chuckles softly and meets Ethan's shameless smile.

"Alright, alright. Cutest girl, then?"

"Laura," Ethan answers without any hesitation whatsoever.

"You're just saying that so I won't kick your ass," Laura accuses. "Be honest!"

"I am!" Ethan assures.

Laura just snorts and waves her hand at him in disbelief, but with a fond smile.

"Stiles," Ethan decides, locking eyes with him. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Stiles replies almost automatically.

"Ask for his real name!" Isaac exclaims.

"Dare," Stiles hurries to say.

A wave of chuckles surge through the group, and Stiles can feel Derek's whole body vibrate against him. His heart skips a beat at it, and it may all be imaginary, but he's pretty sure he can feel Derek's doing the same thing against his shoulder blades.

"Finally," comments Aiden with a satisfied smirk.

Ethan looks deep in thought for a while, and so do the others. It's a bit nerve-racking, and Stiles does his best to maintain a calm persona. He _is_ surprisingly calm, to be fair, considering he's never been cuddled by anyone before, and this is anything but a private moment. Internally he's still freaking out that Derek _wants_ to do all the things he does with him. Touches of sexual nature is one thing, and high on the list of things to be expected, but this – holding him in his arms like this and the sweet kiss from earlier – it's _not_ sexual, and Stiles feels like an idiot for not knowing if it comes on the side when ordering a summer fling.

After giving Derek the green (red) light at the party a few nights ago, Stiles had practically expected Derek to just bend him over and be done with it. That's far from the direction in which things have gone since then, but Stiles doesn't mind one bit.

"Kiss the most beautiful girl in the group," Ethan finally decides.

"That's mean," Laura remarks.

"That's fun," Ethan corrects. "And it's not like I told him to blow Derek."

Stiles nearly chokes on his own tongue.

"And why didn't you?" Aiden wonders, sounding disappointed.

"There are kids present," Boys says firmly, as much of an answer as a reminder to lower their voices.

Aiden looks around them, but shrugs unbothered.

"Okay," Ethan sighs. "Kiss the prettiest girl… on the cheek."

"I'll make it easier for you, Stiles," Lydia says and leans to her left toward him.

They all snicker at her confidence, but Stiles can't really object. Even though both Erica and Laura are very beautiful, Lydia Martin will probably always remain on top of his list for a long time more.

He straightens up a little and tilts his chin up to place a simple kiss on her cheek. He half expects himself to react somehow, because he's lost count of how many times he's dreamt about doing just that in the past. Despite him not thinking of Lydia in that way for the last three years, he still predicts some old feelings to float to the surface, even for just a moment. But nothing happens.

When he sits back to settle against Derek again, Stiles feels the arms around him holding on a little tighter than before. It may be an unconscious move, but that doesn't stop Stiles' heart from fluttering.

"We're definitely too sober to be playing this game," Aiden mutters.

Derek nuzzles Stiles' neck, soft lips sliding over the skin where his shoulder and neck meets. By instinct, Stiles drops one hand from Derek's knees to reach down and rest it on top of Derek's hands on his belly. He's just about to withdraw and pretend it never happened when Derek intertwines their fingers and keeps his hand there. Stiles catches himself smiling like an idiot and tries in vain to wipe it off his face.

 _I could get used to this_ , he thinks to himself, and it's such an incredibly stupid thought but it still manages to slip past his barrier of sanity.

 

 

 

 

They stay for much longer than Lydia had originally intended, and the game goes on for over an hour. Aiden even stops complaining somewhere along the way and starts enjoying himself. By the end of it, they've learned several things including how Erica only needs to whip her hair to get a stranger's phone number, how easily Boyd can pick Ethan up ( _bridal style_ ) and carry him around, and how Derek can howl like a wolf to the point where Yoda joins in.

(That was probably Stiles' favorite part, because he's never heard the husky howl with his own ears before. It's true what Ethan said last night, about him only howling when he and Stiles are apart. Scott and Danny have been loyal babysitters through the years and have had it with the howling – not to mention his dad. He also never knew a human was capable of impersonating a wolf's howl the way Derek can. Their howls were in perfect sync and it was _beautiful_.)

Eventually Lydia realizes how late it is and orders everyone who's leaving for Santa Fe to go pack for the night right away. The group splits up temporarily into their original two halves, but before that Laura elbows Stiles and takes him aside.

"You could come with us, you know," she offers. "It'll be fun! You and I can share a room."

Stiles is surprised, because there's something in her voice that makes him feel uneasy. The smile on her face is not the one she's usually wearing; something forced around the edges. The fact that she's not even mentioning Derek confuses him even further.

"Thanks, but— I'll stay here."

For a moment she looks like she's about to object, but then she just sighs. She gives him an almost apologetic smile and punches him playfully on the shoulder before running to catch up with the others. Stiles looks at her as she goes, feeling the butterflies in his stomach stir in confusion.

Maybe Scott can guess what's keeping his mouth shut for once because he walks up to stand at his side, opening his mouth only to take another five seconds to actually speak.

"Stiles," he starts, his voice careful. "We're leaving on Friday."

"I'm aware of that," Stiles counters, a bit harsher than he'd intended.

Part of him wants to argue with the fact that it's just the same for Scott and Allison, who'll have to let go of Isaac once their time is up, but deep down he's started to realize that it isn't. Scott probably has, too.

Two days. He's got two more days with Derek before he'll literally ride out of his life. Two more days before he's gotta return to the real world. It feels a bit like waiting to wake up from a long-lasting dream; the kind you don't want to end.

 

 

 

 

There's not much more than an hour of daylight left when they all finally get going. Aiden and Laura roll by their camp and wave. Ethan stops for Danny to hop on while Lydia takes his bag and heads for the parking lot with Boyd and Erica in tow. Derek and Isaac stand with Stiles, Scott and Allison to watch them leave.

Once they all drive off, and the sound of Isaac's lonely engine fades into the distance, Scott lets out a heavy sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath.

"So… I rented Star Wars," he says, breaking the silence.

Stiles snorts a laughter and Allison giggles.

"Dude, I love Star Wars," Isaac offers.

And that's that.

Scott, Allison and Isaac start to retreat into the RV to start the movie, and Stiles waits for Derek to do the same. When he doesn't, Stiles remains as well. The trio disappears inside, already chatting with muffled voices between one another. Stiles spends about half a second wondering how the hell they're planning to sit all three of them on the couch in front of Danny's laptop.

But then Derek turns to looks at him, with the evening sun on his face, and Stiles couldn't care less about the damn couch.

"You wanna go for a ride?" Derek asks, voice low and soft.

Stiles feels himself nodding before he's barely registered the question.

 

 

 

 

It's his third time on Derek's bike, but it's the first time they're out there alone.

Everything is so much quieter with only the steady beat from the Harley's single engine in the warm evening air. They're going slow, even slower than the first time, and the winds are still soft against Stiles' skin. The sun is lowering behind the mountains, casting shadows over parts of the land stretching out in front of them. Birds are screeching above their heads, the sound echoing against the rocky ground.

He's in no danger of falling off and hurting himself at this speed, but Stiles is still holding onto Derek's waist tightly. There's barely any air left between them, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Stiles got his chin resting on top of Derek's shoulder, half-heartedly nuzzling into the side of his neck. The setting sun is still warm enough to heat up the leather of the jacket Derek is wearing, and it's warm against Stiles' jaw.

 _Boyd's_ jacket, because Stiles is wearing Derek's.

Derek's got his sunglasses on, and Stiles thinks it's the first time he's using them to actually keep the sun from blinding him rather than simply maintaining his image. With their faces as close as they are now, Stiles can see Derek watching him in the corner of his eye every now and then. Stiles doesn't glance back, just smiles to himself and leans further into Derek's solid body. There's a sly smile playing at Derek's lips, but none of them wants to interrupt the silence.

The open landscape rushes by and Stiles focuses on the rocks and mountains as they pass, letting the rest turn into a blur. The scenery is constantly changing around them as they keep going, following the road toward something that appears to be many miles of just open road. Stiles feels a tingle of excitement in his gut, thinking he finally understands why Derek and the gang love road trips so much.

The thought of keeping on driving, to just keep going till the edge of the world – to be able to actually do that— It's mind-blowing, and Stiles suspects that's what freedom is like. Being able to leave everything behind and just _go_. His heart clench of a sudden longing; a longing for something he'll never have.

It's impossible to keep track of time, but once they've gone far enough for Stiles not to be able to see the campground or the lake when looking behind them, Derek's one hand lets go of the handle and comes to rest on top of one of Stiles' on Derek's stomach. He absently traces Stiles' slender fingers with his thumb, brushing gently over his knuckles. Stiles expects him to withdraw it soon again, but he doesn't. If there had been any cars meeting them on the road, Stiles probably would've worried over Derek keeping the bike in line with only one hand, but they're alone, and both Derek's hands are steady.

Eventually Stiles moves his own hand to play with Derek's fingers in return. He _feels_ as well as hears Derek chuckle quietly, but leaves Stiles to slowly slide their hands together. He caresses Derek's hand until it feels familiar; until he knows the structure of his bones back and forth. Then he finally settles with lacing their fingers together, stilling them on Derek's stomach again. He feels Derek hum in approval.

Stiles realizes that he doesn't mind it being quiet – which is a great deal for him because he down-right _despises_ silence. It used to make his skin itch, and while it's always been a part of his life; over the last few days there have been moments when he hasn't minded shutting up. The wolves must be rubbing off on him.

Uncertainly, he cocks his head briefly to the side and brushes his lips to the warm skin right above Derek's pulse. It probably doesn't qualify as a kiss, but Stiles still feels Derek shudder against his mouth. Stiles' heart is throbbing comfortably from both the thrill of the ride as well as Derek's gentle reaction to his touch. It gives him confidence enough to do it again; sliding his parted mouth over the vein in Derek's neck, and he feels Derek tilt his head to lean into him while humming happily in response.

He's still got that tiny voice somewhere in the back of his head reminding him that the night is far from over yet, and that things can get better as well as worse from here, but he refuses to let it get to him. No matter what will or won't happen tonight, _this_ will still be worth it.

Having Derek for as long as he has will make everything worth it.

 

 

 

 

The sun is long gone by the time they make it back, and the air has changed. Dark clouds are covering the sky, looking as if they're gonna open up and start dumping rain any second.

Derek slows down when rolling past the RV, but doesn't come to a full stop. There's a faint light from the inside; probably coming from Danny's laptop.

"You think we should bother them?" Derek asks quietly over his shoulder.

Stiles considers it, but shakes his head, well aware where that'll take him. "No."

They continue up the road to the wolves' camp. Their _empty_ camp. Boyd's bike looks horribly lonely where it stands all on its own before Derek's Harley comes to accompany it. Stiles bumps his head on Derek's shoulder once before he climbs off, feeling victorious when his knees remain steady as he lands on the ground. His teeth aren't chattering, either.

When the rain starts pouring down only moments later, Derek swears under his breath and falls to his knees next to Boyd's bike, calling on Stiles to help him unfasten the saddlebags. It was a bad idea to leave the leather under the open sky around the clock in the first place, Stiles thinks, but on the other hand is hasn't rained a single drop all week.

"Get inside!" Derek calls to him over the rain once the bags come undone, nodding to the blue tent while he heads for the other with the bags.

Stiles is not a big fan of staying under the rain longer than necessary, so he obeys without question, crawling inside to take cover in the blue tent. It smells like cooped up air and fabric on the inside, but also fresh nature. Stiles looks around to find four sleeping bags on a row of mattresses, making up the entire floor surface. Three saddlebags are lined up along the left wall, and there's a pile of clothes in one of the corners that makes Stiles doubt this is where Laura sleeps.

He knows it's not the gang's actual home, but it's the only home he knows them by and he feels a bit like an intruder for being in the heart of their lair.

Derek comes stumbling inside, hair and clothes dripping. Stiles' heart skips a nervous beat, watching him kick off his shoes and zip up behind him. Then there's only the sound of the rapid rain pattering against the tent's canvas and their loud breaths.

"This is why I don't camp out in tents," Stiles says, voice a little unsteady. Derek turns to look at him. "This damn sound. It's impossible to shut it out."

There's no good lighting inside the tent, but Stiles can still see Derek's flash of white teeth.

"I think I can help take your mind off it," he rumbles.

And then Derek is on him, capturing his mouth with his in a feverish kiss. Stiles muffles a groan in surprise, losing his balance and falls on his ass. Derek follows him, crawling on his knees and hands up into Stiles' space to maintain the kissing. Stiles tries to respond to it the best he can with his heart somewhere in his throat, reaching back to steady himself on his arms. Water is dripping from Derek's hair into Stiles' face, but he barely notices. If anything it probably helps him from burning up because his body is _on fire_. His heart is slamming almost painfully against his ribs, hot blood rushing straight for his dick so fast it nearly makes him dizzy.

Derek leans back only long enough to gracefully slip out of Boyd's jacket and toss it somewhere in the dark. Stiles stares, his thoughts all over the place and in no condition to confirm much else than the fact that _Derek is taking his clothes off_ before their lips comes together again, almost hard enough for their teeth to clash.

It takes a second for Stiles to notice Derek tugging at the jacket Stiles is wearing, as if trying to take it off as well. Stiles struggles to get his arms out, groaning helplessly into the kiss. Derek helps him, huffing hot air against his cheek once it's out of the way. Stiles shudders, his whole body reacting when Derek puts one hand on his bare arm as he leans back.

They both part their lips, hot tongues and kiss-bruised lips colliding. Stiles moans into Derek's open mouth, simply incapable of shutting up, and thinks more than once that he's probably ruining it, but Derek only sucks down on his bottom lip.

The grip on Stiles' arm goes firmer, fingers digging into the skin. He doesn't do anything else for a moment, and it takes way too long for Stiles to realize the hand squeezing his bare arm is Derek waiting for a sign – for _permission_ – to go further. It also feels like an encouragement from Derek to touch him back, and Stiles figures it's only fair considering he's only followed Derek's lead to this point.

Forcing down his insecurities, Stiles shifts his weight over to one arm and reaches out to finally grab a handful of Derek's hair. It's tousled and wet and Stiles twists it around his fingers and gives it a tug. Derek whimpers into the heated kiss, and Stiles can't recall ever hearing something sounding so hot. Then Derek starts moving along Stiles' jaw, trailing kisses everywhere he can reach. Stiles' mouth is suddenly free and falls agape as he pants, thankful to be able to catch his breath but already missing the warmth and softness of Derek's lips.

He yelps when Derek pushes at his chest and makes him lose what little balance he had left and falls onto his back, sprawling out on two of the sleeping bags. Derek smiles, still panting with his mouth open. Stiles waits for him to attack him with kisses again, but he doesn't. For a moment he just seems to pause, the sound of their ragged breaths filling the silence.

Then Derek reaches above their heads and the next second the tent is bathing in a blue, dim night light.

Stiles' first instinct is to cover his face with both hands, no longer fairly hidden by the dark, but Derek easily catches his wrists, pinning him down against the mattress with his arms on each side of his head. It's not a hard grip, but it's firm enough for Stiles not to fight it.

"I want to see you," Derek mumbles softly, hovering above him for another moment before leaning down to claim Stiles' lips again.

Gratefully, Stiles sighs into the kiss, because that's actually something he knows how to do by now. He knows he's blushing and that it's visible in this light, but he still lets himself melt against Derek, and eventually the grip around his wrists loosens as he starts to relax.

Stiles reaches up to grab Derek's hair again, needing to keep his hands _somewhere_ and he doesn't know where else. Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat and lowers himself on Stiles. His knees are on each side of Stiles' thighs – straddling him – and Stiles can feel Derek's hard cock press against his own as he grinds down, stealing Stiles' breath right from his chest.

Derek sits back again only seconds later, however, curling his fingers around the hem of his own shirt and drags it over his head. Stiles' bites his lip and his arms lie limp on the mattress as he takes in the sight of Derek's muscular torso before him; muscles flexing as he tosses the damp shirt on the pile of clothes. He's seen Derek shirtless already, but under completely different circumstances, and he's too good-looking not to be impressed by a second or even third time. Derek catches the way Stiles is watching him and the look he gives him in return is nearly predatory.

Moments pass without Derek moving, and Stiles takes it as another sign of encouragement. With trembling hands he touches Derek's front, sliding his fingers down his firm pecs and abs. Derek breathes out against him, chest heaving under Stiles' palm while his eyes are watching him. Stiles is amazed by the way the muscles flex beneath the pads of his fingers, and once again he's overwhelmed by pride and awe that he's the one having Derek react like this.

"You're nervous," Derek observes in a murmur.

Stiles swallows, lifting his gaze to Derek's face where the stare is still fixed on him.

"Well, yeah," he admits, voice rasp. "I— I've never really done this before."

The surprise in Derek's expression baffles him, to say the least. It's new and somehow flattering to know that he doesn't come across as a virgin all the time, because Stiles thinks it's obvious. Still; the way Derek seems to pause and reconsider has him wondering if it's a good thing.

"And yet you don't mind doing this with a stranger?" He eventually asks.

Stiles wants to argue; wants to insist that Derek isn't a stranger, but he knows Derek is right. He props himself up on his elbows.

"Dude, have you seen yourself?" He asks, trying to sound like his normal sarcastic self, but doesn't quite succeeds. "I doubt _anyone_ would mind being a stranger's one night stand if he looked like you."

Derek snorts, and it really shouldn't be as attractive as it is. Perhaps it wouldn't be if the guy wasn't straddling Stiles' thighs without a shirt on, but somehow Stiles doubts it. Something in his eyes is different, and for a horrible moment Stiles is certain that he's changed his mind, but then he sweeps down to eagerly kiss Stiles' swollen lips again, and Stiles falls flat back on the mattress.

Stiles has no clue how, but somehow Derek manages to pull the red shirt off him while he's still lying on his back. The fresh night air makes him inhale sharply as it curls over his exposed skin. Derek lets his eyes roam over him for a long moment, pupils blown and chest rising and falling heavily. Stiles still feels the urge to curl into himself, but Derek's expression makes him pause. He looks so intrigued – so _impressed_ – and it's the only thing keeping Stiles from cringing under Derek's observing gaze.

When Derek slides his hands up to hold Stiles' sides and arches his back to lean down and cover one of his nipples with his mouth, Stiles forgets how to breathe. An embarrassing noise escapes his lungs, but he can't even be bothered to feel ashamed about it. Derek flicks his tongue over Stiles' sensitive nib and it's too wet, too hot, too good. Stiles grabs another handful of Derek's hair, not sure whether he means to pull him closer or push him away.

Derek hums and soon travels upwards, dropping sloppy kisses all the way up to Stiles' collarbone. He nips at the skin and Stiles can feel the edge of his teeth peaking through behind his lips, making him jerk his hips up by pure instinct. Derek chuckles softly, sounding slightly breathless, and moves up to kiss him fully on the mouth once more. It's hot and wet and drives the butterflies in Stiles' belly crazy.

One of Derek's hands slowly slides down past Stiles' hipbone, caressing his thigh, and then palms Stiles' erection through his pants. Stiles moans, interrupting the kiss. Derek doesn't seem to have expected any different; easily leans down to rest his forehead on Stiles' to still keep their faces close. Stiles' dick twitches desperately against Derek's hand as he strokes his thumb along its outline once before moving to work on the zipper.

Realization hits Stiles like lightning, and for a moment he feels nothing but cold panic washing over him. He's never had anyone but himself touch him before, and that's enough reason to freak out, but also because regardless of all the porn he's seen in his life; he suddenly can't remember a single thing that will help prepare himself for this. He's terrified he won't be any good – how could he? Derek never planned on having a virgin in his tent tonight, and now he's probably going to regret ever wasting time on seducing Stiles in the first place.

Maybe he freezes or does something else visible for Derek to notice his moment of internal crisis, because his hand stills as soon as he's pulled down the zipper and doesn't move any further. He tilts his head to rub his nose against Stiles' cheek, nuzzling into it in a way that makes Stiles' heart flutter.

"Okay?" He asks between two breaths, still managing to sound firm.

Stiles inhales and exhales once, feeling comfortable warmth spread through his chest.

"Okay," he agrees, attempting to nod but only leans further into Derek.

Derek places a simple kiss on Stiles' cheek before finishing what he started and pushes Stiles' pants down his legs, helping him to step out of them. It's actually a great relief for Stiles because they were starting to get way too tight, but it also makes him feel very exposed to be left in nothing but his boxers. He decides not to let it get to him, however, and takes comfort in how Derek keeps staring approvingly as well as seems determined not to push him into doing anything he doesn't want to do.

Just as Derek tosses Stiles' trousers aside, Stiles reaches out with unsteady hands to unbutton Derek's jeans. Derek stills, dark eyes watching Stiles and just _lets_ him. Stiles' gaze flickers between his working fingers and Derek's face, feeling excitement and anxiety knot together in his stomach. He's impressed with himself by how fast he manages to undo Derek's pants and starts pushing them down his thighs. Derek easily pulls them off his legs, and Stiles' eyes falls to the very evident bulge in Derek's boxers.

Stiles barely has time to inhale before Derek climbs on top of him, straddling his hips and grinding down. They both moan as their hard dicks rubs together; now with only the thin fabric of their underwear separating them. Derek covers Stiles' open mouth with his as if to prevent any more sounds from coming out, but Stiles is far too gone to kiss back properly. His cock twitches violently when Derek starts rolling his hips in a controlled rhythm, rutting against him and making Stiles slam his head back on the mattress with a strangled whimper. White, hot pleasure shoots up through his whole body with each thrust, and his mind goes blank.

He knows he's not going to last, no matter how badly he wants this to keep going for much longer. He can already feel his orgasm start to build in his gut, his balls tighten, feeling like falling over the edge every time Derek presses against him. He can feel how big Derek is, how hard he is, and it's driving him _insane_ with want. He whines, hands digging into Derek's shoulders in the need to hold onto something.

Derek must've noticed he's close because he slips one hand between them and tugs down Stiles' boxers, wrapping his fingers around him in a strong grip without hesitation. Stiles chokes a sob and lifts his hips helplessly, his dick stirring in Derek's hand. Derek only slides up and down his shaft twice before letting go to get rid of his own underwear, his movements no longer as smooth and gracious as before. Stiles doesn't even have time to complain about the loss before Derek is pressing their bodies flush together again, both of them naked, and wraps his hand around _both_ of them.

Stiles tries to respond to Derek's hungry kisses, but he can't help himself from gasping every time Derek thrusts down on him, too busy just focusing on breathing. Derek still keeps their faces pressed together, panting erratically into Stiles' mouth. Their bodies are slick with sweat and shivering against one another. Stiles claws at Derek's arms, clinging like his life depends on it. His hips snapping up in sync with the movement of Derek's hand, their cocks pulsing together. Everything is too hot and wet and good and Stiles eventually just lets go.

He chokes back a whimper when he comes harder than he's ever done; his orgasm ripping him open. He feels hot, sticky come on his stomach and knows it's all over Derek's hand that's still moving, smearing it down over his own cock that's still pulsing next to Stiles'. A deep groan slips out of him, sounding so desperate it makes Stiles' dick spurt one last time before he's all spent.

It doesn't take long before even Derek reaches his own climax, burying a moan as he nips at Stiles' jaw.  Stiles groans simply because he can't do anything else.

Once Stiles comes back down from his high, Derek has let go of him and found a towel to clean them up. He rubs it on Stiles' stomach and up his spent dick that's starting to soften before pulling his boxers back in place. Stiles lets him, not even having enough brain cells left to worry about whose sleeping bag he's currently lying on. Later he'll hope it was Aiden's.

He's still catching his breath when Derek comes into view again, hovering over him. Stiles blinks, feeling his heart jolt upon seeing Derek's tousled hair and swollen lips. He's probably just as much of a mess himself, but right now he doesn't care. Derek nuzzles into Stiles' neck, inhaling deeply as if taking in his scent, which is very weird and oddly cute at the same time.

"Do you still hear the rain?" Derek murmurs against his skin.

Stiles tries to listen, but his own heart is still pounding too loud and the blood rushing in his ears for him to hear anything outside the tent. "No."

Derek hums and pulls back to look him in the eyes. He looks just as done and sleepy as Stiles feels. Their breathing slowly returns to normal and Stiles' heartbeat slows down. By the time he can hear the pattering from the rain again, he's already too lost in Derek's stare and drunk on the afterglow to notice.

Their lips meet in another kiss, this time long and sweet. Stiles sighs, content, and only manages to run his fingers through Derek's hair once before his arm gets too heavy.

He lets his eyelids fall shut, and the next time he opens them he's staring at the blue tent canvas. He's lying on his side, still wearing nothing but his boxers, but the warm body holding him from behind is enough for him not to freeze. It's dark, so Derek must've turned the lamp off at some point. One of his strong arms is slung around his middle, hot breath rustling Stiles' hair.

Stiles blinks tiredly, still in a haze. He struggles to keep his eyes open for another moment, afraid to wake up the next morning and finding out this was all a dream, but eventually he gives in and lets sleep take over him. He drifts off to sleep with his hand intertwined with Derek's.


	6. Thursday

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

It's the rumbling sound of a heavy engine coming to life that jolts Stiles awake; eyes snapping open and heart jumping loudly at the startling noise. At first he has no clue where he is, lying flat on his stomach with the air around him thick and all cooped up. Then the blue tent canvas reminds him exactly where and _how_ he went to sleep last night, just as the sound from outside starts to move and Stiles recognizes it as the sound of Derek's Harley. He remains frozen as the bike rolls past one side of the tent, a dark shadow moving over the canvas. Confused, Stiles listens to it drive off in what sounds to be the direction of the campground's exit.

He doesn't need to stop and wonder who it was, because Derek isn't here – no warm body pressing against his – and Stiles is pretty sure none of the other wolves would ride their leader's bike since they have their own. Besides they can't be back yet.

Of course that raises the question as to why Derek would just take off like that without saying anything.

Unzipping the tent, he's not surprised to see Boyd's bike standing all by itself on the pack's usual parking lot. Despite the heavy rain during the night, the sun seems to have gotten rid of all the evidence. The bike looks perfectly dry, its metal gleaming in the sunlight, and there aren't any water drops lingering in the grass when Stiles reaches out to touch it. It must be way past morning judging by the noises coming from the beach; most people already up and about. Stiles is yet again feeling out of place for having slept in for so long.

 _Maybe he went for a morning ride and just didn't want to wake me up,_ he attempts to reassure himself as the front of the tent falls close behind him. Except for the fact that only a deaf person wouldn't wake up from a bike starting up not two inches from their tent.

He finds his clothes scattered around the tent and his chest feels heavier when he finds his trousers are still damp from the rain last night. The clothes Derek wore the previous day are still there, the shirt tangled with Stiles' own, but his leather jacket is gone. Boyd's is lying in the corner where Derek had tossed it last night while never taking his eyes off Stiles.

_Maybe he went to get us breakfast._

Stiles manages to put on his clothes and roll outside, inhaling the fresh air. He doesn't feel fresh himself; clothes still damp and his skin sweaty. Thank god there's no mirror around or he'd know just how much of a disaster his hair looks.

The benches are dry as he decides to sit, and it feels weird to sit there by himself; the table empty without its usual noisy bikers surrounding it. No boom box playing old rock music. No Yoda bumping against his knees under the table. Stiles desperately tries to swallow the stupid lump in his throat. He starts tapping his fingers on the wood surface, waiting. Not sure what for exactly.

 _Maybe Derek gets off with people and then never wants to see them again. Maybe that's what he does_.

Stiles gets up and leaves.

There's no one in sight when he reaches the RV, despite the late hour of the day. Stiles doesn't have his phone on him nor a watch to check the time, but he's pretty sure it's closer to noon than morning. The campsite looks just like it did last time he saw it, when the others left for Santa Fe and Derek had asked to take him for a ride.

It clenches around Stiles' heart, but he clenches his jaw in return and refuses to acknowledge it.

He probably should have stopped at the door to consider knocking instead of just bursting inside, but the thought of Scott and Allison having Isaac to spend the night doesn't even cross his mind. And even if it had he's still not sure whether he would've cared.

Yoda comes to greet him with puppy whines and kisses as soon as he takes one step inside, and the murmuring from the couch abruptly stops. Stiles lifts his gaze to find all three of them sitting there, still wearing pajamas and wrapped up in blankets. All three heads are turned to look at him, but Stiles can't even be bothered to feel awkward about walking in on them. At least no one is naked.

"Stiles," Scott exclaims, as always the most unabashed one, giving him some sort of expectant smile.

Stiles counters Yoda's ecstatic greeting, accepting kisses and dodges his paws. Part of him wants to return Scott's smile and keep telling himself he's got no reason _not_ to be happy, but the rest of him can't.

"I'll walk Yoda," he says instead, fetching the leash and phone from the table.

"Wha–" Scott starts, confused. "Where's Derek?"

"He took off," Stiles replies, surprised by how steady he manages to keep his voice.

The three of them look between each other. He can see it in the corner of his eye.

"What?" Allison asks out loud, and Stiles wants to punch something. "Derek–"

"He took off!" He repeats, snapping this time.

Scott and Allison look surprised, but Stiles can't tell if it's by the words themselves or from his tone. Then their expressions turn to pity, and Stiles hates it. Isaac purses his lips, looking like he's not even surprised to hear it. Stiles hates _that_ even more.

He pulls Yoda out of the RV before he says something else he's going to regret, tearing his eyes off Isaac.

Isaac hadn't run off.

He doesn't take the trail 'round the lake. He leaves the campground and walks along the side of the road where he knows Derek won't come driving by on his bike. He hadn't even been aware that he knew which roads Derek preferred driving until now, and it stings.

Cars and trucks pass them by and Yoda is snapping his head back and forth to keep track of them all. Stiles barely notices them, but every time he hears the rumble of a motorcycle his breath lodges in his throat and his eyes burn. He'll curse under his breath afterwards because of course it's never Derek.

Stiles knows he's got no real reason to be upset. It's not like Derek betrayed him in any way, nor did he do anything other than what was expected of him. They danced. They kissed. They cuddled. They held hands. They spent the night together.

They had a little fun, and tomorrow they're all leaving, so it doesn't matter.

No matter how hard he tries to push away the thoughts, naturally it doesn't work. The first night after meeting Derek he had somehow managed to forget about the guy, because back then he was still just a mysterious stranger. There had been other things on Stiles' mind: expectations for the week he was gonna spend with his friends and the thought of his father still lingering in the back of his head.

Derek is constantly on his mind now; has been for the last five days. He wouldn't be able to shut him out no matter how hard he tried. And he _does_ try. He really, _really_ does. He tries to be angry, but his anger eventually turns to loss.

Only five days ago he'd been convinced that meeting Derek would ruin his whole week, and he'd been right, but not in the way he'd expected back then. Stiles thought he would spend the week watching him, lusting after him, but never getting anything in return. But what he got instead of the nothing he'd prepared himself for; he got everything. Then it all got snatched out of his hand, and he finds that that hurts even worse than rejection, because at least he's used to that.

It hurts more knowing Derek only wanted him for a week than that he didn't want him at all.

He wants to hate Derek, but in the end he only hates himself for making this something it's not.

 

 

 

 

Isaac is gone when he eventually returns to the RV almost an hour later, and so are Scott and Allison.

Stiles pours some food into Yoda's bowl and makes sure he's got water before taking care of the stacks of dishes in the sink. It's not even _his_ turn but he doesn't care. He can't allow himself to pause and sit down, afraid for the way his thoughts will fly if he doesn't keep his hands busy. Just like last time though, doing the dishes doesn't help keeping his mind blank.

Even the dirty plates from yesterday have him wondering which one was Derek's.

Scott returns to find the RV spotless with the sink clean and every bed nicely made. Stiles is sitting on the couch, bouncing his leg under the table with his hands and gaze resting on its surface.

"Hey," Scott greets vaguely, hands gently pushing the excited dog out of the way as he comes to sit down across from Stiles. The evident carefulness in his movements and tone of voice makes Stiles' heart sinks dangerously low in his chest. "You okay?"

Stiles thinks about it for a moment, eyes still fixed on the table. He hates the way he feels, how he's the only one not walking on clouds today. Somehow he _always_ manages to feel like the weakest one. He's never had any luck in relationships, and only a little when it comes to friendships. He's not good with feelings because _he feels too much_. He should've known this from the beginning; should've known he would never be able to let go of Derek that easily. But Derek had _wanted_ him, had made Stiles' heart pounder, and it had been _impossible_ for him to walk away and not right into his claws.

The wolf's claws, where he's now stuck.

"No. No, I'm not okay," he admits in defeat, voice hoarse.

Scott doesn't seem to have expected any other answer, nodding slowly in response. It makes Stiles partly regret it; he doesn't want to ruin his best friend's good mood. Whatever had gone down in the RV last night, the trio sitting all huddled together this morning spoke in volumes that it had been enjoyable. Then Stiles had burst in and rained on their parade just because he hadn't gotten any morning cuddles.

If it had been any other day, Stiles would've spent all morning asking Scott just how good he thought Star Wars was and demanded details of what a threesome was like. He would've loved every second of it, because anything that made Scott smile used to be enough for him to join in.

If Derek only had stayed with him this morning, Stiles probably still would have.

"Stiles," Scott starts softly. "You know that whatever you think you're feeling right now— It's not real. Not really. You know that, right?"

"How do you know that?" Stiles asks, lifting his head to finally look at him. He's mad at himself when he hears how wrong his voice sounds. "How do _I_ know that? How do I know what's real or not? Because I thought I loved Lydia for more than ten years, Scott, and she barely knew I existed for about half of them." His voice is growing stronger to the rhythm of his quickening heart. "I've been with Derek for less than a week, but he's well aware of my existence. How do I know what I feel isn't real?"

Derek had not only acknowledged his existence – he had _praised_ it. He could've danced with any of the people who had been staring him down at the beach party, but he'd danced with Stiles. He didn't have to wrap his arms around him or hold his hand in front of the others, but he had. He didn't have to be as gentle as he was last night, but he had still made sure Stiles was okay with every next step.

He didn't have to steal Stiles' heart in the run of a few days, but he had.

Scott doesn't have an answer to that, and Stiles is grateful. The two of them just look at each other in silence for another moment before Stiles lets out a heavy sigh.

"Why do I keep doing this?" He mumbles, mostly to himself. "Why do I keep falling for people who'll never love me back?"

It's a rhetorical question, and Scott gets it. His eyes are shining with empathy but he doesn't try and answer it for him. Despite what people may say: Scott isn't an idiot.

"We'll head home tomorrow," Scott reminds him again, and this time it's to cheer him up.

Stiles exhales loudly, nodding and attempting a weak smile. Suddenly he can't wait to leave this place behind and go home to their small, shitty town. He misses his dad. Hopefully Scott's mom has done her job as his secret spy and made sure the man hasn't been stowing himself with junk food all week.

"Come on," Scott says, clapping him on the shoulder as he stands. "Let's have a late breakfast and talk about Star Wars."

 

 

 

 

They're still sitting at the table, breakfast long-finished and still in deep conversation when the others come back.

Stiles is just opening his mouth to argue with Scott on why light sabers are the coolest thing ever – and they are _not_ stupid – when the distant sound of humming engines reaches his ears and his heart stops along with his movements. Scott frowns at him for a second before he hears it too, turning his head to the window. Stiles doesn't want to see, but of course he can't help but look, too.

Aiden and Laura appear first, Laura looking over her shoulder to wave and say something Stiles can't hear before they continue along the road to their camp. Ethan stops long enough for Danny to hop off by the side of the road, handing back the borrowed jacket and helmet before the bike rolls on. Danny waits where he'd landed, looking in the direction of the parking lot until Lydia, Boyd and Erica come into Stiles and Scott's view. They part ways; Boyd taking Erica by the hand and walking after the other wolves and Lydia heads toward the RV. Stiles sees the way couples smile at each other, hands tightly intertwined and shoulders bumping together.

It's disgusting.

"Hey losers," Danny calls out as soon as he opens the door, his face lit up by those damn dimples.

Stiles goes into the bedroom and buries his pace in the pillow.

 

 

 

 

He stays in bed for the next few hours, hiding from the world. It's pathetic, and he knows that.

No matter how hard he tries not to, he can't help but listen in on Danny and Lydia telling Scott just how beautiful Santa Fe was. They had gone to dinner at a fancy restaurant when the sun was about to set, and apparently had such a good time they remained there several hours after dark. Hearing Danny admit that he and Ethan went back to the hotel earlier than the others felt like a stab in Stiles' chest, knowing that by then he'd most likely been cooped up in Derek's arms.

Allison comes back from wherever she had gone off to – without Isaac – and the conversation moves on to the shopping.

Stiles manages to tune them out eventually, or maybe he even dozes off for a bit. Suddenly someone is shaking him by the shoulder and he flinches, looking up to find Lydia standing by his bed. She must be standing on the edge of her own bunk below because she is much taller than she should be. Despite the stern look she's giving him, there's still something bright and shiny in her face. Apparently Aiden had been enough of a gentleman to make her feel like a princess last night.

"Lunch is ready," she announces, and Stiles _definitely_ must've fallen asleep because he can't recall when the voices from the other room stopped and the air started to smell like barbeque.

"Not hungry," he mutters, which is a lie.

Pity flickers in her eyes for barely a second, and Stiles can only assume Scott told them why he's acting like a child, but then she looks even more determined than before.

"Stop moping and come outside," she says like it's an order. Her grip on his shoulder won't budge even when he tries to shake it off. Most people would probably just obey.

"Leave me alone, Lydia," Stiles says a little firmer because no matter how hungry he is, he's got a long list of things he'd rather do than go out there and be the black sheep.

"You sticking your head in the sand won't change anything," she points out. "You can't just hide from your problems, Stiles."

"Yes, I can," Stiles insists, speaking into the pillow.

"Not forever."

He doesn't _need_ to hide forever. He's always been a big fan of ignoring a problem until it eventually just goes away, and this one would be no different. Tomorrow it will get on a bike and be gone; all he has to do is get through the next twenty hours.

"Stiles," Lydia says firmly, and the glimpse of empathy in her expression is back. "Come on. We've got a day left on this vacation. Don't spend it in bed all by yourself."

A heavy and honest sigh escapes him before he can stop it. He shrugs with his hands because he can't really move his shoulders when lying flat on his stomach.

"I don't want to ruin it for you guys," he says, and there's a lump building in his throat just by saying it out loud.

"You'll only ruin it if you don't come and join us," Lydia assures. "Or else I'll put you behind the wheel again tomorrow."

He can't help but feel the corners of his mouth twitch at that.

"I never thought I'd be able to hate you," he mumbles, and the proud smile she gives him shows she already knows she's won. She loosens her grip on his shoulder and pats him there instead before stepping down from the bed.

"Come on. Some of us didn't have a proper breakfast."

"I really don't want to know why," Stiles warns, groaning as he forces himself to get out of bed.

 

 

 

 

Lunch is a disaster. Stiles regrets leaving his safe haven more than he regrets a lot of things.

Despite Scott's attempts to steer the conversation anywhere but to the biker gang, of course that's where they end up. It makes Stiles wonder what they would've spent this week doing if it hadn't been for them befriending the wolves; if Yoda had never run off to find them. Would they be talking about Beacon Hills and everyday stuff right now?

"Are you going to keep texting him even after tomorrow?" Danny asks when Lydia drops her eyes down to her phone again.

She shrugs without looking up. "Maybe."

"Why?" Asks Allison, nudging Danny. "Are you just going to cut ties with Ethan when we leave?"

"We haven't even exchanged numbers," Danny replies unconcerned. "So, yeah. What's the point in keeping touch with a summer fling from New York?"

Stiles swallows before chewing the meat properly and clenches at his chest, but can't tell which pain he's trying to soothe. He can see Scott biting his lip next to him, throwing him glances.

"Maybe you'd like to see him again if you ever wind up there," Allison suggests. "If you're planning on playing lacrosse in college and onwards that's very likely."

"I'm not gonna see him again," Danny clarifies. "And honestly; I don't care. We've all had a great week, haven't we?"

"Yeah, well," Stiles says, voice coming out flat. "Not all of us are able to take things as lightly as you do."

The next second they're all looking at him, and whatever Scott had told them about Stiles' morning must've resurfaced. Allison looks guilty, Lydia looks down, but Danny only looks puzzled.

"I don't get what you're so upset about," he says honestly. And of course he doesn't, because he's Danny and _everybody loves Danny_. He, and everyone else in the group, is used to the attention. Used to being appreciated and adored. "You spent the night with him, and tomorrow you might even get to kiss him goodbye before he drives off into the horizon. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No," Stiles says in a heartbeat. "No, this is not what I wanted."

His heart throbs quickly in his chest as he spits the words out. It makes it all the more real; to admit it out loud other than in his head. Danny doesn't seem to know what to say, and Stiles is glad. The others remain quiet for a long time, too. So long it starts crawling under Stiles' skin.

"I lost my appetite," he says, standing up.

No one tries to stop him when he walks away.

 

 

 

 

Ironically, the one who comes to find him is Ethan.

He's sitting down by the beach, watching people throw themselves into the waves. Some of them he recognizes as people he's seen during the week. He may even have spoken to a few of them at some point. Once again he can't help but wonder if any of them recognizes him as well, and if they wonder where the older guy with the stubble is.

Stiles doesn't look over when someone comes to sit down next to him at first, assuming it's Scott or Danny who's come to check on him. But then he spots the sharp and unfamiliar jaw line and turns his head to look properly. Ethan makes himself comfortable in the sand before returning the stare with a weak smile. He's dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, but the smell of leather still lingers on him, and it makes Stiles' stomach ache.

He's not sure how the guy knew where he was, or appears to know something is up, but he's suspecting there must be some kind of conspiracy involving Lydia and Aiden and their phones.

"Not gonna go in?" Ethan asks, nodding toward the water.

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, I'm not really in the mood."

"You don't say," Ethan says sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Think you can cheer me up?" Stiles asks flatly, looking back out over the lake.

"I figured I'd give it a shot," Ethan shrugs. "Why, was I that obvious?"

"That's why Lydia told you to come down here, right?"

"No one told me anything."

Stiles looks back at him, frowning. "No?"

"Nope," Ethan says, shaking his head. "I just saw you sitting here all by yourself on my way back from the showers and thought I might give you some company."

"But–" Stiles hesitates. "How did you know something was up?"

"I know what's up," Ethan assures with a sigh, "without someone having to tell me. I'm not blind."

Stiles isn't sure what that means exactly. If he's referring to what he and Derek have been doing all week then yeah, sure. The whole campground knows that. That's not really the reason Stiles is sitting here all alone wishing he'd left Yoda back home so this week would've turned out a lot different.

Ethan shakes his head after a pause in silence, looking down at the sand by his feet. "You've practically moved a mountain here and you don't even realize it," he mumbles. That only confuses Stiles further, but he doesn't get a chance to ask for Ethan to elaborate before he continues. "I also know what's up because Derek is back and fighting with Laura back in camp. Reason I got the hell out of there."

Just hearing someone else utter Derek's name again is enough for Stiles to inhale sharply, but he forces himself to push down the feeling.

"You're not making much sense to me," he admits.

"I know," Ethan agrees, sounding apologetic. Then he sighs again, standing back up. "I'm Sorry, Stiles. Believe me when I say I'd like to fill you in on a lot of plot holes here, but I should probably just go before I say too much and Derek will have my head. Or Laura will, and that's actually twice as scary."

Stiles can't help but snort at that, no matter how uneasy the rest makes him feel. He looks up at Ethan who gives him a faint smile, then turns on his heel and walks away, leaving him alone once more.

There's something tugging on his insides at the thought of Derek having returned from wherever the hell he drove off to this morning, and it takes him a long time staring out over the water to figure out that it's _longing_.

He _misses_ Derek, and the realization hits Stiles like a stab of knives. He misses the sound of him huffing, his warm and musky scent, the feeling of his strong arms around him. He misses his stupid bunny teeth, his soft scruff and the wrinkles around his eyes when he smiles. He misses watching him play with Yoda, tend to his bike and listen to that old damn boom box.

 

 

 

 

Yoda's excitement to head for the gang's part of the campground does little to help Stiles feel better. The dog practically bounces next to him with his tail high and wagging frantically, but doesn't pull on the leash thanks to the collar being so high on his neck. Stiles hates that it works.

He knows it's probably a bad idea – horrible, even – but he has to _see_ Derek. Even though it'll most likely do him more bad than good; he needs to see him just one more time, because he might never get the chance tomorrow.

Raised voices can be heard as he approaches the hedgerow, and Stiles feels his heart flutter when he recognizes one of them as Derek's. He tightens his grip on Yoda's leash and stops, puzzled as of what to do. He thought they would be done arguing by now, and that he could just get a glimpse of Derek through the bushes and that would've been it. That would've been _enough_.

The next second his heart stops for a split second because he's just heard his own name from the other side of the hedge. He's still too far away to hear anything clearly, and half of him is ordering himself to back away while the other half is begging him to go closer. His mind is torn and he remains frozen for another good while, but in the end he moves forward again.

He does feel guilty for eavesdropping, but he can't help himself. He can't make himself walk away from Derek's voice coming from the other side of the hedge, even if it's harsh and mixed with Laura's in what most definitely is a personal fight between brother and sister.

"You don't understand," is the first thing he makes out when stopping right in front of the bushes, on the exact same spot Yoda disappeared that first day, and it's Derek. Just the sound of his voice this close makes the butterflies in Stiles' stomach go swirl.

"I'm the _only one_ who understands!" Laura shouts back, and Stiles is pretty sure he's never heard her sound like that, even when putting the twins in their place during dinner. "I'm the only one you've let inside that hard shell of yours, and it's only because I'm your sister. You had me before _her_ , before everything, before you locked the gate and threw away the key. Look at you! You still live in the past after all those years. You surround yourself with people but never let them come close enough to hurt you. You drag around this damn old stereo—"

"That's got nothing to do with it," Derek spits out.

"It has _everything_ to do with it, Derek!" Laura growls. "Your walls started to crumble the moment you met this kid, and you know that. You've tried to keep your mask all week, tried so hard not to let him in. But you've failed, sweetie." She scoffs, but it's hollow. "I've seen glimpses of the real you who's hiding beneath the leather and sunglasses, and so has he."

"There's no—"

"You know what I mean!" Laura snaps. "And if you don't get your head out of your ass and realize that you don't have to run away like a scared puppy this time – that this is something you should risk a chance at _keeping_ – then I think I might have to kill you."

Silence. Stiles hears nothing but his own rapid heartbeat, trying to wrap his head around exactly what's going on. He knows they're talking about him, but he's still confused about the rest. Once again he thinks this is definitely private stuff, and even if Ethan had made it sound like he'd left by choice, he wouldn't be surprised if the siblings kicked the gang out to be left alone for this.

"He's not one of your regular one night stands, Derek."

And that's it; the sentence that makes Stiles want to claw the heart out of his chest just to prevent it from hurting this much.

"He's just a kid," Derek says flatly.

"No, he's eighteen. Age is just a number, Derek. As always you're paying attention to the wrong things."

"Then maybe you should teach me to pay attention to the right things," Derek snarls sarcastically.

"How about the fact that he's the complete opposite of Kate?"

"Don't," Derek warns, and it sounds more like a wolf's growl than anything Stiles has ever heard.

Stiles stops breathing for a second or two, and it seems to have put Laura off a bit too because she doesn't say anything for a while. Yoda looks up at him, probably confused and restless for sitting still for so long without anything interesting happening. Stiles prays he won't start whining.

There's movement from the other side of the bushes, but it's too thick for Stiles to make out what or who is moving. Someone sighs, and it could be either of them.

"Derek," Laura eventually says, and her voice is much gentler now. "Please. I know that this— I know you haven't stopped to think about this for a long time. But _please_ … Think about it now."

"There's nothing to think about," Derek mutters.

"Except that there is," Laura says firmly. "You're scared shitless, okay? I can see that. Just—"

"I slept with him," Derek blurts out, and Stiles' heart _stops_.

"Yeah, I _know_ that," Laura says, voice growing irritated again. "Why the hell do you think I'm—"

"No, Laura," Derek interrupts. "I _fell asleep_ with him." There's a pause. "I— I've never done that before."

Stiles has to bite his tongue because he can feel it starting to burn behind his yes, and the last thing he wants to do is _cry_. His heart is throbbing hard against his ribs and he's amazed that his knees haven't buckled yet. The silence that follows is a long one, and Stiles doesn't dare move a muscle in fear they'll hear him.

"Honey," Laura starts, but Derek cuts her off.

"No." And whatever vulnerability there had been in his voice moments ago, it's gone now. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters, you dumbass!" Laura accuses. There's the sound of rustling clothes and Stiles can see movement through the bushes again. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere."

"Let me go," Derek spits.

"Derek," Laura begs, but then there's a final rustling sound followed by quick evading footsteps. "You can't just keep running away from this, Derek. Get back here! _Derek!_ "

The sound of footsteps fades away, and then Laura is cursing to herself on the other side of the hedge. Stiles remains still for a long moment, feeling his heart sink even heavier at hearing Derek walk away from him again.

Yoda lets out a loud yelping sound, and Stiles nearly jumps in the air. The blood in his veins turn cold for a second, because that's it – he's done for. He braces himself for Laura coming to drag him out of the bushes and yell at him, to remind him just how disrespectful eavesdropping is.

But instead he hears her sighing, than she says in a calm voice, "Get over here, Stiles."

He obeys, because it's not like he can turn around and run the other way. He's pretty sure Laura is pretty fed up with people running away from her today. Yoda pulls on the leash and takes the lead as soon as Stiles takes one step forward. His hands are so sweaty and shaky that the leash slips out of his grip, and Yoda leaps through the hedge with it dragging behind. Stiles sighs, but knows that at least Yoda will go straight for Laura, and follows. He holds one arm up to cover himself from getting twigs in his face, but just like last time it barely helps.

When he comes out on the other side, it feels like déjà vu and the flashbacks nearly rip him open. There are the four bikes, lined up to the right and gleaming in the sun. There are the tents, the blue and orange one. There's Yoda sitting wagging his tail while being scratched behind his ear. Laura is crouching down in front of him, slowly lifting her gaze to Stiles when he appears. Stiles feels a lump in his throat and has to clench his jaws to keep his bottom lip from quivering. 

Laura doesn't yell at him. In fact, she doesn't say anything at all for quite a while. They look at each other in silence while she keeps petting Yoda. She's wearing a sad expression, and Stiles can only guess he looks the same. He's in no shape to hide exactly what a shitty day this is.

"Go on then," she eventually says, standing up and throwing her arms out. "Ask."

Stiles hesitates, not sure whether to take the bait or not. She doesn't look as if she's bullshitting him though, just goes to sit down on the benches and place her hands flat on the table. Yoda trots after her and lies down by her feet, happy for the shade under the table.

He wants to ask a lot, but at the same time nothing at all. It won't change anything. Nothing will change the fact that they are all still strangers, and this week won't mean anything after tomorrow.

"Who's Kate?" Stiles manages to get out, but the next second he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

Laura purses her lips for a moment, as if considering whether to answer or not.

"Derek's first and last girlfriend," she then replies.

It's unfair how it feels like a punch to the gut.

"Sounds like he needs more time to recover then," he says stiffly.

"It's been ten years," Laura says, looking at her hands. "Most people would consider that enough."

Stiles blinks, taken aback by that. _Ten_ _years?_ That's a very long time for getting over a breakup. Also the number is horribly familiar.

"And this is what he does to get over her, then? Screws people over and then avoids them?"

His voice is harsher than he'd intended, but at least it isn't breaking.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

"Would people stop telling me they're sorry?" Stiles breathes, struggling to ignore the huge lump in his throat that makes him want to break down and give in to the tears. "You especially have no right to be sorry," he points out, and sounding accusing. "You did nothing to keep me from falling for him. More like the complete opposite." He scoffs, because it's all so pathetic, but it sounds incredibly sad in his ears. "You've practically been his wingman all week."

"I'm not his wingman!" Laura protests sharply, and her raised tone actually surprises Stiles. "I've never been and I never will be. I didn't even want him to get with you in the first place! Do you know why?"

"Why?" Stiles asks, clenching his jaw.

"Because I _like_ you, Stiles!" Laura responds, and her eyes are suddenly glazed. "Derek's flirts tend to disappear forever and I didn't want that to happen with you. I still don't."

She keeps her eyes fixed on him for another moment before she sighs heavily and looks away. Stiles had not been expecting that. Then he remember Laura asking him to come with her to Santa Fe instead of staying with Derek for the night, and suddenly her weird behavior makes sense. She wanted to keep last night from happening.

He swallows, chest heaving and emotions still raging inside him. Laura sighs again, closing her eyes for a while before looking back up at him. She looks like she's trying to calm herself down, and when she speaks her voice is a lot softer.

"You're the puppy I'd like to keep, Stiles."

And that actually breaks Stiles' heart a little more, because he likes Laura too. He's never had many great friends in his life, because eventually his hyperactive self gets on people's nerves. There are only a handful of people whom he feels comfortable with and who would call themselves his friends, and they all came here with him. But ever since they arrived in New Mexico, that group of people has expanded. Laura is the kind of person he'd like to keep in his life, but in this reality he knows that's not possible for more than one reason.

He lets out a long and shaky breath, having to sit down because his legs start to feel unstable. Yoda shuffles to bump his nose on his feet instead of Laura's, probably bored from the lack of attention he's getting from either of them.

"Look, don't—" He stops, taking a new breath and starts over. "Don't try and make this into something it's not, okay? I've already done enough of that today, and it's killing me." He shakes his head slowly. "Whatever you've been trying to convince him of about me—"

"Stiles—"

"I'm not an idiot, okay?" He hurries to interject, because he knows he can't deal with getting his stupid hopes up again. "Don't you think I know what this is? I know he's done this before. Probably a lot of times. Don't you think I know how insignificant I am to him?"

Laura shakes her head slowly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Please don't do that," he pleads.

"You didn't see him that morning, okay?" Laura says pointedly. "After he kissed you. He was smiling to himself every time I looked over. Do you have any idea how long I've waited to see something like that?"

Stiles frowns, confused. And there it is again; the foolish spark of hope stirring in his gut that makes part of him think that maybe, just maybe he was something more to Derek than just someone to get off with.

"Derek smiles all the time," he says, because it's true. Derek smiled the first time they met, and has done every day since.

"Not like that," Laura says.

Stiles stares at her. " _What?_ " He demands; his voice too harsh, too desperate, and he's aware of that, but everything just _hurts_.

Laura bites her lip and buries her face in her hands for a moment, and Stiles actually expect her to finally snap at him and tell him to leave. He's been expecting it ever since he got out of the bushes after all, and she really doesn't look like she wants to continue the conversation. To his surprise, however, her face is calm and gathered when she lets her hands fall back on the table, and Stiles knows he's going to get more than just a one-sentence explanation before she even starts talking.

"Look… Derek hasn't been easy after what happened with Kate. It ended—" She seems to search for the best word to use. "Badly. It ended really, _really_ badly and you'll have little use of the details. All you need to know is that since then he hasn't let people in."

"He's got a whole gang who—""

"It's not the same," she interrupts. "He keeps them around, hangs out with them, talks about bikes and has a couple of beers, but Stiles—" She shakes her head. "They know the biker and leader you met five days ago, but that's not all he is, though it's all he allows people to see."

"So I don't know the real him, is that it?" Stiles asks dryly. "Wow, that's—"

"No, it's the other way around, dumbass!" Laura shouts. "You _do_ know the real Derek, because you drove him out of his damn shell." Stiles opens his mouth to ask, but she beats him to it. "The guy in leather jacket with the cocky smile? That's as deep as he gets for everyone else. It's his shield, his armor. It's shallow and cold and _horrible_." She looks so depressed that it's making Stiles feel the urge to comfort her somehow, but he doesn't dare move. "But at least not letting anyone in to see what's beneath the surface keeps him from getting hurt again."

Stiles swallows, feels his pulse quicken. "And what exactly does this have to do with me?" He asks, unable to allow himself not to be skeptical. "I mean, if that's really— What did I do?"

Because he doesn't get it. How could he be the one to make Derek open up like that, if no one in the run of ten years could?

"You tore down his walls, Stiles," Laura says, letting out a short laugh that must be the saddest thing Stiles has ever heard. "Didn't you ever realize how you made him act out of line from what was expected? His childish gestures, his genuine smiles, the way he touches you, the warm expression on his face whenever he looks at you—" She makes a helpless and irritated gesture with her hands. "Damn it, Stiles! Did you not ever notice how _we_ – his own damn family – barely believed our eyes when seeing the way he was with you this week? Not even a little?"

Stiles gulps. He _did_ notice. Not at the time, but now when he thinks back on it, replaying moments from the last couple of days in his head, he can see it. Laura's lingering eyes on him, Ethan's look of surprise, Aiden's confused frown and Isaac's widened eyes. They had all looked at him and Derek with some kind of wonder and awe whenever they had shared a look or exchanged a touch. It hadn't made sense to Stiles before, but now it all suddenly does.

The warm smiles and soft touches, the innocent gestures and playful actions – it's not something Derek used to do. It's not what he does for every other guy he hooks up with. It's something from his warm and private insides that apparently no one is allowed to see, and Stiles brought it to the surface.

No wonder Derek hates him.

 

 

 

 

It's probably his own way of apologizing for what happened during lunch, but Danny offers to take Yoda off Stiles' hands later that evening. Stiles wants to go for a run because it's the only way he can think of to clear his head, and as much as he loves having Yoda for company, he knows the dog is also a great reminder of what he's currently trying _not_ to think about. Danny must realize the same because he's quite persistent. Stiles eventually just sighs in defeat, giving his friend a small but grateful smile as he puts the leash in Danny's outstretched hand and kisses Yoda on the top of his head before he jogs off.

He'd left Laura when Boyd and Erica had returned to their camp once the shouting had stopped. He and Laura had been sitting in total silence for god knows how long, and the sight of the couple that Stiles had found ridiculously adorable a few days ago but now made his stomach twist had made him get up and leave. He'd shared a long look with Laura, felt the urge to hug her for what probably would be the last time, but in the end he couldn't, and just turned on his heel and walked away.

It's unusual not to have Yoda with him, and Stiles finds it incredibly relieving to have both hands free as he picks up his pace. He keeps thinking he should stop and let Yoda take care of his business, and has to remind himself that this time there's no need to. He doesn't have to stop, so he doesn't.

The sun is about to set, and Stiles' feet lead him to his usual route 'round the lake without his brain remotely registering where he's heading. It's still hot as hell, and he can feel the sweat starting to form in the roots of his hair already. He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, thinking he should _really_ get a sweatband unless he's planning on going for the buzz cut again.

Stiles nearly whimpers when he reaches the top of the hill and spots someone running from the other direction, approaching him in fast pace, because even from this distance he can tell it's Derek. It's the first time he's seen him today, apart from the silhouette on the tent canvas or glimpses through the bushes, and his heart clenches so intensely it gets hard to breathe.

He considers turning around and running the other way, but that would only make things worse. _He_ 's not the one who's been playing the avoiding game all day – Derek is. So he keeps going, maintaining his steady pace and lets the distance between them decrease by the second. Derek doesn't seem to slow down either, despite Stiles being positive he's spotted him, too. It makes something stir in his gut, to think that Derek is heading straight toward him and doesn't seem to have expected anything else than crossing paths with him here. At least he shouldn't have.

They don't wave as their eyes meet once they're close enough. Stiles has to come to a stop eventually because his heart is racing so fast and he's panting way worse than he should after running not even half the trail. He swallows down a dry throat, trying desperately to steel himself for whatever is coming when Derek catches up with him. He knows this is going to hurt, way worse than anything else has today, because this time the words will come from Derek's own mouth.

Derek is panting with his lips parted when he slows down, stopping only a few feet in front of Stiles. He's covered in sweat, which isn't curious at all because he's definitely been running faster than Stiles. The front of his tank top is damp and sticking to his chest and stomach, and if it had been any other day of the week Stiles would've loved it. Now he hates it, along with everything else about the guy. He hates how messy is hair is, looking as if he hasn't even bothered to take a shower or use hair products today. He hates his flushed skin and the way his chest heaves where he stands, eyes meeting Stiles'.

"So I take it you've abandoned the avoiding plan," Stiles says, impressed by how steady his own voice is.

"I'm sorry," Derek rushes to say, almost cutting him off.

And Stiles believes him because he really _looks_ sorry; his eyes big and open and _raw_ somehow. He's never seen that expression on Derek's face before and it doesn't suit him at all.

Silence roams for a while; Stiles has no idea how to respond to that. He'd been prepared for a lot of things once he and Derek would be face to face with each other again, but not an apology. Once again he's hit by the fact that he doesn't really know Derek, and therefore has no idea what to expect of him, and that only makes it worse.

"Where's Yoda?" Derek asks then, and Stiles can't hold back a snort.

"Do you really care?"

"Stiles—"

"No, you don't get to do that," Stiles interrupts harshly. "I'm sick of people saying my name like that. Just let me hear it from you for once, instead of the members of your little gang. Tell me you actually care, and I might believe you."

Because today has been a rollercoaster; a battle between wanting to believe Derek cares for him more than just a guy he found on a campground in New Mexico and got to spend the week with, and everything that speaks for the opposite. It doesn't matter what Laura thinks she knows, or Ethan says to have seen. He needs to hear it from Derek, to know for sure, or he'll go insane.

Derek doesn't say anything at first, just stands there with his lips parted, still catching his breath and his chest heaving. His gaze is fixed on Stiles, and it takes everything Stiles has not to look away because he can't stand seeing the intensity in Derek's eyes and knowing that it doesn't even matter. It will _never_ matter because after tomorrow he'll never get to see it again, and just thinking about that hurts worse than anything Stiles has ever felt before.

Finally, Derek takes one step closer to him, and despite part of Stiles wanting to take a matching step backwards, he remains still.

"I care," Derek says, eyes still locked with Stiles. "I care more than I should and it's freaking me out."

Stiles doesn't say anything, too busy feeling the last piece of his defenses shatter inside him. He wants to be angry again, like he was earlier today. He wants to tell Derek that he's an asshole for leaving him like he did this morning, but the words get stuck on his tongue.

Derek looks wild; his face so open and vulnerable, and suddenly Stiles understands exactly what Laura was talking about. This is not the same guy he met five days ago, who huffed and smirked surrounded by his friends. But it's the guy he's been falling in love with all week, the one who splashed water on him like a five year old, who wrapped his arms around him and reached out to wipe ketchup off Stiles' face in front of his whole gang.

"So what was the plan?" Stiles manages to ask, voice not as steady as before.

"For what?"

"For me."

Derek appears to flinch at that and something flickers in his eyes.

"I thought I could have you for a week," he says, voice deep and the mere sound of it makes the hair on the back of Stiles' neck stand. "Only for a week and then I would never see you again. I thought I could enjoy you for a couple of days and that would be enough." He swallows, eyes darting away from Stiles for the first time. When he continues, his voice is low and he doesn't lift his gaze from the ground. "But then I started to realize that it wouldn't be, that I wouldn't be able to let you go that easily. So I tried telling myself you wouldn't be that good – that you wouldn't _feel_ that good."

Slowly, almost carefully, he looks up to make eye contact with Stiles again, letting out a broken sigh.

"But you did," he admits. "You were amazing. I want— I wanted to do everything with you."

Stiles swallows, his heart hammering like a war drum.

"But you didn't," he reminds him.

And now Derek looks just like he did last night, when it dawned on him that Stiles had never been with anyone before. Stiles had thought it had simply been Derek losing interest in going any further with an inexperienced virgin, but now he understands that wasn't it.

"I couldn't take that from you, Stiles."

"Why not?" He asks, feeling his throat thicken. "You've already taken everything else."

"I know."

"No." Stiles shakes his head. "No, you don't."

Derek looks like he wants to argue, but doesn't. Stiles is thankful for that because Derek _doesn't_ know. He doesn't know just how hard he's managed to get Stiles to fall for him. Stiles barely knows himself. All he knows is that it _hurts_ and even more now when knowing Derek isn't ready to let him go either, but is too scared to do anything about it.

So he takes a deep breath, taking one step closer because Derek won't. This time Derek is the one who looks like he wants to step back, his muscles even flexing as he's about to move, but stays where he is.

"Listen," Stiles says, voice thick and sounds more like a plea than anything. "I know that we practically just met, and I know next to nothing about you." He purses his lips, eyes falling to the ground. "I don't know what happened between you and Kate. I don't know what made you scared of letting people close to you. I don't know why you flinch at a crackling campfire. I don't know how you managed to gather a whole gang of people who trust you, despite hiding beneath a mask."

Slowly, Stiles looks back up at him. Derek doesn't seem to react to the mention of Kate or the rest, so Stiles suspects he already knows he and Laura had a talk. He only looks sad, and Stiles feels the urge to wrap his arms around him pull at his heart. He looks a lot smaller, too, with his slumping shoulders and sloughing posture.

"But I know other things," Stiles ventures, his voice growing a little stronger. "I know how well I fit in your arms. I know the way you kiss me, the way you touch me. I know you love to race with the wind, and I think it's because it makes you feel free. I know how much you love playing with Yoda, and I know how my heart swells every time I see you two together."

He swallows, heart racing within him. Derek doesn't even blink.

"I know us," he says as firmly as he can. "And I will be devastated if I never get to see you again. I just— I just want you. That I _do_ know."

The butterflies in his stomach are swarming and he's positive that his own confession cut his heart open because it's _bleeding_. He's never opened himself up like this, and he feels incredibly naked, exposed, and vulnerable. He just handed Derek his heart and he could easily just crush it in his hand. Stiles doubts he'll survive that.

Derek looks down, hanging his head. A couple of long and horrible seconds pass by before he does anything else, and Stiles fees like he's gonna puke. He can see Derek swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing and the veins in his neck straining. Stiles waits for him to say something, but the silence lasts for too long.

"Did you hear me?" He pushes, but it's only a miracle his own voice doesn't crack. "I want you, in every sense of the word."

"Stiles," Derek says, and somehow manages to make his name sound like a warning. "It's not that easy."

"Who the fuck said this was easy?" Stiles blurts out. "I know damn well this is anything _but_ easy. I've got no master plan, Derek. All I know is that you've made me fall in love with you and—"

"Don't," Derek breathes.

" _What?_ " Stiles demands.

"Don't say you're in love with me," Derek says, and it sounds like an order.

The lump in Stiles' throat nearly prevents him from breathing at all.

"I am," he says instead, and he's getting more convinced it's true by the second.

"You don't know that," Derek insists.

"Why?" Snaps Stiles. "Why can't I know that?"

"Because I'm your first, Stiles!" Derek counters, and Stiles' heart sinks like a stone at his harsh tone. "You haven't— It's not the same for you as it is for me. You've never been with other people. You don't know what it's like to be with someone else. You have nothing to compare me to."

Derek looks desperate and scared – _terrified_ , even.

"I know," Stiles admits. "I know that I have absolutely no idea what it's like to be with someone else, but I don't _want_ to know. I know what it's like to be with _you_ , and that's all that matters. All I want." A sad scoff escapes him. "You're everything I never knew I wanted."

There's pain in Derek's eyes, and Stiles feels _defeated_. First now he realizes his chest is heaving even worse than before he stopped to catch his breath; air coming out in short and uneven pants. He tries to calm himself down, to wait for Derek to say something, but he never does.

He opened up, bared his throat to Derek, despite being scared out of his mind. After everything that Laura and Ethan told him, he'd hoped Derek would do the same, that he could help him feel safe. It's torture to look at him now and see him still hiding behind his own fear; once again wearing a shield that Stiles doesn't seem to be able to crush this time.

Stiles lets out what he thought was a sigh, but it turns into a sob when leaving his lips.

"But it doesn't even matter, does it?" He mumbles, voice openly sad and broken. It's burning behind his eyes. "We're still going home tomorrow. You're going back to New York. This week was just—" He shrugs helplessly. "It doesn't count."

Because it's been unreal, but soon they'll have to return to reality. Wake up from their dream.

He thinks maybe Derek will say he's sorry again, one last time. He looks like he wants to say _something_ , but nothing but air comes out of his parted lips. Those lips, which had been kissing Stiles barely 24 hours ago.

And Stiles can't take it anymore.

"Guess this is goodbye then," he says finally, forcing his tears not to fall.

He continues along the road in the direction Derek had come from, picking up a pace much faster than earlier. He sees Derek's hand stir just as he passes him, as if he wanted to reach out and stop him. No hand grabs him though, and Stiles doesn't look back.

For a split second he inhales Derek's warm scent, and Stiles wonders if he's going to break down and cry every time he'll smell the same brand of cologne for the rest of his life.


	7. Friday

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

It would've been a beautiful day had it not been the day after yesterday.

Despite the ever gassing sun and clear blue sky, a lot of people seem to be heading home. Perhaps their holiday have come to an end and they want to spend the weekend at home before going back to their everyday routines, or maybe they're simply fed up with the place. Turns out that can happen to even the best of places.

Lydia is in charge of the packing after breakfast, which surprises no one, and neither of them mind. Even if they're not exactly in a hurry to get back to Beacon Hills, and they've agreed to take turns to drive, it's still a lot to be done and it's easier with someone to coordinate them all. As expected, Stiles and Danny are put in charge for unplugging the RV and most of the cleaning for running away on the first day.

Danny elbows him gently as soon as they're out of Lydia's hearing range.

"Told you."

Stiles rolls his eyes and returns the gesture. He wishes he could still say it had been worth it.

Yoda is tied to the driver's door handle on the RV while they pack; tail wagging every time any of them comes into view as they run in and out of the vehicle and all over the place with chairs and trash bags. He drowns the music playing at the beach by howling at the bypassing cars and campers driving toward the exit, most likely suspecting he'll be tucked in and on the road soon himself. It's a good thing he's not one of those dogs that get nauseous and vomit. It's an even better thing that he's got a long morning walk with Stiles and Scott or he'd be climbing the walls before they even reached the border of Arizona.

No one has mentioned any of the bikers all morning, and Stiles knows it's all for his sake. His friends would no doubt talk about the people who made this week into what it is if things had been different, and while part of him feels guilty that they can't, he's also grateful. He wonders if they've all said their goodbyes already without his knowledge, and just how different it must've been from his own.

It's when Stiles and Scott are cleaning the coal grill that Yoda goes still and quiet, flickering his ears straight ahead, and Stiles feels his heart sink in realization before his own human ears pick up the by now familiar sound of approaching bikes.

Scott lifts his head to lock eyes with him and Stiles just looks back with a sad smile. There's nothing more to it. Nothing either of them can do. The only comfort in hearing the sound come closer is knowing that this will be the last time. Scott smiles back just as sad and doesn't say anything.

Of course it's impossible not to look up as they come, and Stiles assumes it would only be impolite not to. Despite how things had ended for some of them, they're still two groups of people who've shared this week with each other. Stiles may have said goodbye to the two that matter the most, but the least he can do is look up and wave to the rest of them.

When he does look up, he's not met by the sight he expected.

The twins are in the lead of the formation, both wearing helmets. Boyd and Erica are next, and it's the first time Stiles sees them properly dressed for other than their quiet sunset rides. The third bike is Isaac's, and on the otherwise empty seat behind him is now Laura with her arms wrapped around his middle. Derek comes last, on his own on the Harley, and Stiles can feel his poker face drop as soon as he lays eyes on him.

All bikes are heavily loaded with saddlebags, and the boom box is somehow attached to the back of Boyd's. It's a weird feeling to imagine how empty and deserted their camp must be now, save for the table that shouldn't even be there in the first place.

Stiles clenches his jaws, hands gripping at the grill as he just waits for them to roll by and be gone.

But they don't.

They _stop_. Aiden pulls up his Augusta on the side of the road just by their camp, the others following his lead, and _they stop_. Stiles panics because he's prepared himself for this moment all morning – all night – but he presumed they would just ride by. Why the hell would they stop?

Allison and Lydia come out from the RV, looking as surprised as Stiles feels. Yoda starts making noises low in his throat and tugs on the leash as the bikes' engines shut off, and Danny goes to calm him down. The whole gang takes their helmets off, but while the rest of them remain still seated on their bikes, Derek climbs off his.

Derek heads straight for Stiles, their eyes meeting with ease. He's dressed like that day Aiden and Stiles made a bet and they went for a fast ride; dark jeans, jacket and gloves. The helmet is dangling from his fingertips as he walks closer, and his hair is all tousled from the rough way he took it off.

"We need to talk," he says when he reaches him, leaving a space of barely five feet between them.

Part of Stiles wants to ask _now?_ because both parties are on their way to leave, and also he's not sure if cars are even able to leave the campground anymore with the bikes parked as they are.

"Do we?" He asks instead, because the other part of him doesn't care that they're blocking the road. Somehow he manages to keep his voice on guard.

"Yes," Derek says.

Stiles searches Derek's eyes. He looks far more gathered than yesterday, and Stiles wonders what could have changed since then.

"We did talk," he says simply.

"No, we didn't," Derek protests. " _You_ talked, and I was an asshole for not talking back." He inhales once. "I'm here to fix that."

Stiles swallows down harshly. Derek's face doesn't budge; he hasn't even risked a glance at Scott nor done anything to acknowledge the others' existence around them. Stiles looks over Derek's shoulder to the wolves, catching Laura's smile and the small nod. He looks back to Derek.

"You want to take this right here, right now?" He asks, not sure what he's expecting, but he's very aware of over a dozen people watching them and plenty more around who can hear everything they say.

"Yes," Derek answers again, and there's something about his tone that makes Stiles think it's not in _spite_ of it but _because_ of it, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

Scott moves at his side, appearing to unsuccessfully trying to sneak further away and give them at least a little privacy. Not that it will matter, with everyone else still watching them with no intention to stop, but Stiles appreciates the thought.

"Okay," he says hoarsely, swallowing and giving Derek a sharp look. "Talk."

Derek's eyes flicker with something, looking utterly _relieved_ for a second, as if he hadn't expected Stiles would listen. Then he clenches his jaw, taking one careful step forward. Stiles lets him.

"Listen, Stiles. There are a lot of things I don't know, too." He sounds so frightened, like he's heading for the edge of an abyss and isn't sure he'll be able to stop in time before falling. Stiles understands – he   _does_ – but at least he's talking now, and that's more than he dared hope for. Maybe it reflects in his eyes because Derek seems to gather himself, voice growing steadier as he continues.

"But the _one_ thing that I'm absolute certain of, is that I want more than this week with you." He does a helpless little shrug. "I don't want to let you go yet."

Stiles' heart nearly jumps up in his throat.

"Yet?" He repeats, because there is still the fact that Derek turned his back on all the people he's been with in the past. Stiles is quite positive he won't still be standing if he has to go through another rejection like yesterday all over again.

Derek's gaze flickers between his eyes. "If ever."

And that actually steals the air right out of Stiles' lungs. There's a part of him that is still screaming at him not to just fall to his knees in relief just yet – even if he really feels like doing just that – but there's also a voice somewhere in the back of his head singing _he wants me_ and _we can be more than this_. He can't decide what to say, but that's okay since Derek beats him to it.

"I was a douche bag yesterday," he says, stating the obvious. "Actually I've been a bit of a douche bag all week for not wanting to admit how you made me feel." Stiles parts his lips, wanting to ask _like what?_ but Derek beats him to it again, answering his unasked question as if he read his mind. "Good. You made me feel good, and I haven't felt that way in a long time."

He pauses, inhales and exhales as if it's a struggle just getting the words out. He ducks his head and breaks eye contact, and Stiles has to steel himself not to chase after him.

"Most people don't think there's more to me than what meets the eye. To them I'm enough." Stiles feels a sting of jealousy when thinking about the men and women Derek has been with before, but he forces it down. "I barely have to try," Derek goes on, and he sounds on the brink of frustrated, then snorts. "It's the most shallow thing."

Carefully he looks up again, and Stiles is afraid to meet his gaze but does it anyway. Derek's eyes are sparkling with what Stiles can only identify as regret. Maybe even _disgust_. But his whole expression changes when they look at each other again, the anger and dislike for his own actions falling right off to be replaced with the same softness as always when looking at Stiles.

"You're different. You talk too much, you have a hard time believing someone wants you, and you got under my skin. You thought I was something more even when I tried to pretend like I wasn't."

He takes another step forward, and now they're close enough for Stiles to breathe him in. It makes the butterflies in his stomach swirl and it takes all his willpower not to leap forward. The only reason he doesn't is because Derek doesn't look like he's finished, and the last thing Stiles wants to do is shut him up when the cat finally let go of his tongue.

Derek looks at him intensively for a moment of silence, as if trying to see in what way his words are affecting him. Then he reaches up with one hand, moving slow and careful to leave Stiles to bat it away if he wants to. Stiles doesn't move an inch, doesn't even _breathe_. Derek's hand cups the side of his face, and it's the first touch they've shared since they fell asleep in each other's arms in the tent. Stiles feels a warmth spreading from his heart as well as Derek's hot palm against his cheek.

"You may not have moved a mountain," Derek says in a low, humming voice that feels like it's vibrating from the depths of Stiles' stomach. "But you moved me, and that's basically the same thing."

"It's a figure of speech, Der," Laura says from somewhere in the distance that Stiles has completely forgotten about.

"Shut up," Derek tells her, not even blinking, still with his eyes on Stiles.

A laugh slips out of Stiles, and then he's throwing himself forward to put both hands to the back of Derek's neck and press their mouths together. Derek makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but kisses him back with equal force in a heartbeat. The hand on Stiles' face remains there, thumb caressing his cheekbone while his other wraps around Stiles' waist, pulling him in. Stiles is already breathless the moment their lips meet, heart hammering in his chest, but it doesn't stop him from kissing Derek for all he's worth.

He's pretty sure he hears someone muttering 'thank god' many miles away, but he doesn't let Derek pull back; taking in his warmth, his soft touch, his taste and smell until he's _drunk_ from it. Only then he breaks apart, smiling as he attempts to catch his breath. Derek is grinning against his cheek, placing soft kisses anywhere he can reach as Stiles ducks his head to rest his forehead on Derek's shoulder, inhaling the smell of leather and Derek's musk. His heart is throbbing hard against his ribs, and he can feel Derek's own beating just as fast the way they are pressed together.

They stay like that for a while. Stiles has no clue for how long, but long enough for reality to take hold of him again. Because their mutual feelings aside, they still live _time zones_ apart, on each side of the whole country. Admitting that they don't want to go separate ways doesn't change that.

Stiles runs his tongue over his kiss-bruised lips, recognizing his even breathing before leaning back enough to look Derek in the eye. He's still smiling, looking far too careless for the situation, which makes Stiles think Derek must know something he doesn't.

Glancing over Derek's shoulder to where his friends are still standing, Stiles sees Scott beaming at him. Allison seems unsure whether she should meet his gaze or not, blushing faintly. Danny is smirking and Lydia just looks pleased. He darts his eyes to the bikers still waiting by the side of the road, and his gaze is immediately drawn to Laura who's smiling brighter than he's ever seen her do.

He looks back to Derek, the million dollar question getting stuck in his throat. Derek answers it anyway.

"I want you to come with us."

Stiles blinks. "What?"

"Our road trip," Derek explains calmly, running his hand through Stiles' hair to the back of his head, making him shudder. "I want you to ride with us for the rest of the way."

"I can't do that," Stiles says automatically, all while hearing his friends gasp and mumble around them. "I mean— Where would— I have to get home."

Derek gives him a small nod, still wearing that warm smile that makes Stiles feel all fuzzy inside.

"I told you the first time we met that we're heading for California," he reminds him. "When we get there, we'll take you home."

Among the shock, Stiles still can't help but feel a sting of disappointment. He wants to go with them- wants it so badly his heart aches for it – but their trip won't last for longer than L.A. which won't take more than a few days to reach. Stiles wants more time than that. A _lot_ more time.

"You mean in like two days?"

Derek's smile grows into a sly smirk.

"I was thinking a bit longer than that," he says. "About a week, in fact."

Stiles frowns. "What? But you—"

"Told you," Derek murmurs, gently cutting him off. "I like detours."

And Stiles can't help but scoff, because okay – this is really happening. He's actually being asked to ride with the whole gang to California. He looks at the others again, but unlike his own friends they are giving him knowing and _expectant_ looks. They're all in on this. Even Aiden looks encouraging in his own way.

"How the hell are we gonna fit into two tents?" He asks, looking between Derek and the gang.

Scott looks like he wants to say he's out of his mind for even considering it, but Laura comes first.

"There's plenty of motels along the road," she points out.

"Yeah, I think we've done enough camping for a while," Boyd agrees.

"It's not a problem, Stiles," Erica adds.

But there has to be _some_ kind of problem because there's no way it's just that easy.

"There's no room for me on the bikes."

"I'm sitting behind Isaac for a reason," Laura says, cocking an eyebrow. "A good reason."

Stiles feels himself blush faintly, probably only enough for Derek to notice, glancing at the parked Harley.

"I don't have a jacket," he says. "I'll freeze to death."

"I bought you one," Derek says as Aiden snickers.

Stiles widen his eyes at him. "You bought me a leather jacket?"

"And a helmet," Ethan informs.

"And gloves," Isaac adds.

Derek shrugs as Stiles' jaw drops, looking almost embarrassed. "I was really hoping you'd come."

Stiles' heart jolts and he only just manages to keep himself from kissing Derek again. _Later_ , he tells himself, and it's insane and makes him ridiculously happy that he's able to do that. He settles for grasping the hair in the back of Derek's neck, watching his eyes flutter at the sensation.

"What if you get tired of me?" He asks in a low voice.

The hand resting on Stiles' small back slides up to wrap around his bicep.

"I haven't gotten tired of you yet," Derek offers with a sweet smile. "And by the time we reach California, I guess we'll know."

Stiles huffs out air, not even able to laugh properly because of how excited he is. But that settles it.

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay."

Derek grins and bumps their noses together before taking a step back, hands falling from Stiles to instead take him by the hand as they both turn back to their friends.

"Stiles, are you serious?" Lydia asks him.

"Yeah," he says in a heartbeat. "I mean, I know this is completely insane, but yeah."

He gives all his worried friends an honest smile. They all look like they want to argue, and for good reason. Stiles is well aware of the facts: he's agreeing to leave his friends behind and go with a biker gang he met only six days ago on a road trip for another week. Maybe he should worry at least a little, but finds that he doesn't. He loves Derek, he loves Laura, and he wants to spend more time with all of them.

Lydia points a finger at Derek. "You do know his father is a sheriff, right?"

"I do," Derek nods.

She looks somewhat relaxed at hearing that, but still adds, "You know, one of your hoodies is still in my laundry basket since Stiles took a swim in the mud. How about we take it back with us, and you'll get it back when you bring Stiles home?"

Stiles is pretty sure Derek wouldn't care for an old worn-out hoodie, but he still appreciates her threat.

"Like insurance?" Derek asks with a sly smile.

"Exactly like insurance," Lydia nods.

"Or like a hostage," Scott suggests.

Derek chuckles, angling his head to look at Stiles as he responds. "Sure. Take something more valuable to me than a hoodie if it makes you feel better."

Lydia looks between them. "It'll do fine," she decides.

"Stiles," Ethan calls, smiling wide. "Grab your stuff! We're getting out of here."

"Right," Stiles breathes out, heart jolting a little at the twisted reality. He lets go of Derek's hand, nodding. "I'll be right back."

He dives into the RV and nearly trips on his own feet when jogging to the bedroom. Thankfully his bag is pretty much all packed already, due to Lydia's bossing around this morning. He only tucks his runner shorts in before zipping it close.

Scott almost collides into him in the doorway.

"Please tell my dad not to worry," Stiles asks him, even though he knows it won't help much.

"Why don't you do it yourself?" Scott wonders.

Stiles scoffs a little out of breath, heart still beating fast with excitement.

"Actually, I'm planning on turning my phone off because he'd never approve."

Scott looks like he wants to laugh, but can't. Stiles doesn't blame him.

"Stiles," he says lowly, even if they're alone and the others can't hear them. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Probably not," Stiles says honestly. He's _so_ getting grounded for this. "But I have to give it a shot to be sure, right?"

At that Scott does smiles.

"Just— Be careful, okay?"

"Hey," Stiles says gently, putting a heavy hand on Scott's shoulder. "Of course. I'll be fine, alright? I mean, I know it's weird, but— I trust him, Scott. All of them, actually."

"I know," Scott nods. "You're the one who's bonded with them the most after all."

Stiles opens his mouth to protests because he sure didn't get to know Isaac the way he and Allison did, but deep down he gets Scott's point. He may not have been involved with the others like with Derek, but he's still gotten to know them.

Scott inhales a new breath and manages to smile even more honestly. "I'll watch Yoda for you."

"Thanks, dude." Stiles drops his bag and pulls him into a proper hug, arms wrapping firmly around Scott's back and shoulders. "My dad would've gone mad if I left him alone with him."

Scott chuckles and hugs him back, hard.

Derek is back on the Harley when Stiles comes back outside and the engines are alive again. He squeezes his bag into one of the saddlebags before taking the helmet, gloves and jacket from Derek's outstretched hands. There is a grin playing on his face as he watches Stiles put it all on. Everything fits perfectly.

When grabbing Derek's hips to climb on the bike, Derek immediately reaches down to let his hand linger over Stiles' for a moment. It's a small gesture, and it's over within seconds before Derek once again grips the steering handle, but it still makes Stiles grin like an idiot into the helmet.

Yoda howls when they start pulling up to the road again, despite Danny crouching next to him with both hands buried in his fur. Laura coos and waves at him.

"If you'd fit in a saddlebag we'd take you with us as well, boy," she says in her usual Yoda-voice.

"Admit it," Stiles says, "You'd rather have him along than me."

Laura laughs, her grip on Isaac tightens when they're back on the road and Boyd and Erica speed up in front of them.

"Don't be silly. Then we would be a whole pack howling for you."

 

 

 

 

It's weird to wave at his friends and as Stiles and the biker gang drives out of the campground. It's weird to head out on the open road and know they won't return there when the sun's down. It's weird to not know where he'll be when the night falls or tomorrow when he wakes up. Whether it'll be in a cooped up tent with half the gang or pressed up against Derek in a crappy motel room, he finds himself not caring.

Wolves are not creatures of comfort anyway.


	8. On the road

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

Stiles uncovers the meaning behind Derek's tattoo on Saturday morning.

He wakes up first, staring up at an ugly gray ceiling once he's fully awake. He reaches up to rub the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand, inhaling and exhaling slowly and loudly. For a moment he's got no clue where he is; nothing feels, sounds or smells familiar. Then he turns his head to the side, spotting the man sleeping soundly next to him in the king-sized bed, and feels himself smile as a warmth expands within his chest.

Derek is lying on his stomach, arms hugging the pillow in a nearly possessive manner. Most of his face is hidden behind his massive bicep, revealing only his relaxed forehead, closed eyelids and the bridge of his nose. His hair is a dark mess, all sprawled out on the white pillow. At some point during the night he must've kicked at the sheets because they're low on his back now, showing just the waistband of his boxers. It was probably because of the heat; Stiles can see his back glistening with sweat in the sunlight. His whole body heaves in rhythm to his steady breathing, muscles flexing and making the big tattoo across his shoulder blades move in waves.

Stiles rolls onto his stomach as well, shuffling over to Derek's side of the bed. They must've moved apart in their sleep because they had been all tangled up in each other when they went to bed last night. He reaches out to trace the black ink with two fingers, realizing he hasn't really seen it since that day they went swimming.

As soon as his fingers make contact and start to move over the skin, Derek's breathing changes and he lets out a deep sigh. Stiles bites back a laugh, looking back at Derek's calm face and waits for him to wake up. His eyes don't open, but the eventual hum that vibrates under Stiles' touch is enough proof that he's acknowledging what Stiles is doing. Nothing in his face changes; no wrinkle on his forehead or dip in his eyebrows. He could just as well still be sleeping, only Stiles can tell he isn't.

"I lied to you," comes the muffled voice moments later.

Stiles dips his head to bump his nose on Derek's naked shoulder. "About what?"

"My tattoo," Derek replies, slowly blinking his eyes open. "It does mean something."

Their eyes lock once Derek has cleared his vision from sleep. Stiles looks at him in silence for a moment before letting his gaze return to where his fingers are still outlining the shape on Derek's back. He'd forgotten about it, and at this point he doesn't care if it's totally meaningless; being a part of Derek is enough for him to love it.

"It's a Celtic symbol," Derek says, sighing softly as he stretches without seeming to want to change position or get out of bed anytime soon. Stiles nods, because that much he knows already. He's come across similar symbols several times thanks to his curiosity for irrelevant things when doing school work. "A triskele. The three spirals represent three combined forces. It can be different for everyone," he goes on. "Spirit, mind, body. Past, present, future—"

"Mother, father, child," Stiles mumbles.

Derek looks at him with surprise for a moment. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's— It's supposed to stand for my family." He pauses, and Stiles can see the hesitation flicker in his eyes. He waits, not going to push Derek into revealing more about himself than he's already done. "They died," he finally says.

Stiles swallows, though he's already considered the possibility. While other members of the gang have talked about their parents and siblings, Derek and Laura have stayed quiet on that point.

"In a fire," Stiles says, and it's not really a question.

Derek looks surprised again, perhaps having to think back before recalling how Stiles had noticed him flinch at the campfire last week. It hadn't made sense to Stiles at first – just like so much else – but once he'd started to go back and remember their week together, he'd had a few revelations.

"Yeah," Derek agrees softly.

Stiles offers a weak smile, as if to show that he appreciates him opening up but won't ask more about it. He leans over Derek to press his lips to the warm skin, placing one kiss to each spiral on his back. It tastes of salt and heat. Then he nuzzles Derek's shoulder and places a kiss there too. Derek lets him, only breathing heavily as he does, but decides to move after Stiles has kissed his shoulder twice.

Two strong hands grabs Stiles' hips as Derek rolls onto his back and pulls Stiles on top of him. Stiles gasps in surprise but chuckles once he's straddling Derek's thighs. Derek starts kissing his face, arching his neck to reach without removing his hands from Stiles' hip to put weight on the back of his head. Stiles pulls back, sitting up and steadies himself with two hands on Derek's chest.

"Morning breath," he excuses.

He looks down on Derek who groans in disappointment and lets his head fall back on the pillow. Stiles smiles down on him for a long moment without saying anything, hands drifting a little to outline Derek's muscles and bones. He brushes a thumb along his collarbone and then drops to slide fingertips down his abs. When looking back up into Derek's face, his eyes are blown and dark; clearly not minding Stiles exploring his body. Stiles wants to get to know every inch of him, and part of him still can't believe he's allowed to do that.

Stiles reaches up to slip a hand into Derek's hair, treading his fingers through it.

"You moved away from me in your sleep," he says.

"Sorry," Derek rumbles, hands sliding up Stiles' thighs. "I'm not used to sharing a bed with someone."

Stiles hums, not upset. It could just as well have been him who moved.

"You think the others are up yet?"

"No," Derek answers absently, eyes wandering down Stiles' body above him. "And even if they are, we're not in a rush to be anywhere, remember?"

"I just thought we could have breakfast together," Stiles shrugs.

Derek smiles, all teeth and sparkling eyes. "Cute."

" _You're_ cute," Stiles snorts back.

They both smile stupidly at each other for a long time. Derek's hands have stopped moving, his warm big palms just lingering on Stiles' bare skin now. Stiles feels his face going hot eventually, still not able to have Derek watching him with that intense stare without blushing. He thinks he will eventually, because he knows what he sees in Derek's eyes are no lies. He just needs more time to get comfortable with being exposed like that. Last night Derek had offered him to share a shower, but he had shyly declined. Derek hadn't pushed him, only kissed his temple and said it was okay.

"I don't care about your morning breath," Derek says softly, tilting his head on the pillow. "Come here."

Stiles hangs with his head, not even bothering to argue because he could never resist Derek even if he wanted to. He's tried. He leans down, putting his hands on each side of Derek's pillow to hold up his weight. Their warm and lazy mouths meet in a sloppy morning kiss, and it's perfect.

 

 

 

 

Stiles gets hit on in a biker bar on the border of New Mexico Sunday afternoon, right before passing into Colorado.

He wonders if it has to do with the new leather jacket – because admittedly it makes him look pretty cool – or if something else about him has changed lately, because these things simply don't happen to _him_. Especially not when he's got people looking like Erica and Isaac sitting right next to him.

It's not a big bar, but Stiles doesn't really have anything to compare it to except Jungle, and those are two very different things. There's no dance floor; tables and booths taking up most of the floor surface. Music is playing from a jukebox in the corner, the same type of classic rock as what's usually coming out of Derek's stereo. The majority of the costumers spread out all over the place have either leather jackets slung over their chairs or still on their shoulders, and there are paintings of motorcycles decorating the walls as well as famous road signs and numbers.

Stiles is sitting on one of the wooden barstools by the long bar when the guy comes to sit next to him, ordering a drink and taps with his fingers on the edge of the bar. When he turns his head to the side and shoots Stiles a mouth-closed smile, Stiles figures it's only polite to return it.

"Not man enough to have a real drink?" The stranger asks, nodding to the glass of coke in Stiles' hands.

Stiles scoffs, a little embarrassed to clearly be one of the youngest in the bar.

"Going by age? No," he sighs with a light eye-roll.

The guy gives him a sly smile. Stiles finds it difficult to place his age, because his face is smoothly shaved but still got that mature look in his green eyes. He's got a straight nose and a sharp jaw, and if the previous week had never happened, Stiles would no doubt have called him really attractive.

"You're man enough for other things then I take it."

Erica coughs into her drink on Stiles' other side.

"Uh," Stiles says, lost.

The guy calmly gestures to his jacket, almost touching him in the process.

"You ride one of those beasts outside?" He asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh," Stiles says. "No, I mean– I ride one, yes, but I'm not the one who's driving. I only ride along."

"With who?"

And the guy must've moved closer at some point because suddenly Stiles' nose is filled with the smell of his unfamiliar aftershave and can count every eyelash.

"Me."

The guy spins around to end up face to face with Derek who's standing right behind him with a sour look on his face. Stiles looks past him to see Boyd, Laura and Aiden still by the pool table, and he feels bad for not noticing him making his way over to the bar. Derek doesn't catch his apologetic look though; too busy staring the guy down.

"Oh," he says, eyes darting to Stiles and back to Derek. "You're— I'm sorry, I didn't—" The confidence he'd had seconds ago is completely gone, and he points to the other side of the room. "I'm gonna go."

He slips off his barstool just as his drink lands on the bar, leaving only Derek and Stiles with an empty seat between them.

"Derek," Stiles breathes, terrified he just messed everything up. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

But Derek just shakes his head. "I know. It's okay," he assures. He lets out a heavy sigh that Stiles thinks sounds like a very relieved one. "At least it didn't end in a fight."

Stiles blinks. "You'd get into a _bar fight_ for me?"

Derek sinks down on the chair between them, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"I would," he says, and looks about as surprised by that as Stiles feels. A low chuckle slips out of Stiles before he leans forward to place a peck on Derek's lips. Derek is smiling when he pulls back, looking almost _cocky_ about it and it makes Stiles' heart swell. "No more bars," he says, standing up again.

Stiles smile falters. "What? Derek, I swear, I won't—"

"Those girls have been ogling at you for over an hour," Derek interrupts him, pointing to a table in the corner with his thumb over his shoulder.

Stiles jaw drops because _what?_ Derek waits patiently as he looks over to the girls who are giggling among themselves when noticing him looking over. It's never happened to him before, and he has to blink a few times in shock before it sinks in. He looks back up to meet Derek's gaze again, once again worried to have Derek being mad at him, but there's no heat in his eyes. At least not the bad kind.

"I never thought you'd be the jealous type," Stiles says quietly.

"Neither did I," Derek admits grimly.

Stiles doesn't object when Derek reaches down to seize his wrist and pull him up from the chair; grabbing his helmet and gloves from the bar. Derek drapes one arm over Stiles' shoulders in a nearly possessive way that makes Stiles grin to himself; slinging his own free arm around Derek's waist as they head for the door.

Derek pats Isaac on the back when brushing past him.

"Let's hit the road."

 

 

 

 

Colorado is beautiful; all green grass and waterfalls.

Despite what they all agreed to before, they find a great camping spot on a hillside where they raise the two tents. It's weird to see them standing anywhere but where Stiles first saw them; with the bikes now parked on a line on the _wrong_ side.

"That's a horrible color combination, just FYI," he says, nodding to the tents while taking his gloves off. "I mean blue is pretty, but with orange?" He pulls a face. "Not pretty."

Laura chuckles from where she's sitting in the grass by the soon-to-be campfire and there's a familiar huff behind him. "I didn't know there was such a thing as tent fashion," Derek remarks, his small smile evident in his voice as he wraps one arm around Stiles. His hand slides inside the open jacket and comes to rest on Stiles' stomach; making Stiles hum happily and tilt his head back against Derek's shoulder.

"You two are even worse than Boyd and Erica," Isaac comments, reappearing from where he's gone off to with a stack of firewood in his hands.

Stiles scoffs shyly, expecting Derek to pull back at that, but he doesn't move for another moment, and withdraws his arm slowly once he does. Derek walks around the gathered group, and Stiles follows him with his gaze until he catches Laura giving him an amused smirk. He blushes and sits down to help her.

"Maybe we should split them up tonight," Aiden suggests, cringing out of his jacket. "I'm not sure it'd be a good idea to have them in the same tent. Some of us wanna sleep, you know."

"Oh, please," Erica says, dropping one of the saddlebags next to the fire Laura is working on. "If you're gonna separate them you'll have to split me and Boyd too to be fair, and that's not gonna happen."

"No one is separating anyone from anyone," Ethan decides. "Although," he adds challenging to his brother, "I'd like to see you _try_ keeping Derek from sleeping with his boyfriend."

They all snicker, but Stiles' breath catches a little. They've never used that term before, and as much as _he_ wants to, he's not sure _Derek_ wants to. Boyfriends sounds… permanent, and that's not really what they are. They're riding on borrowed time.

"So," he says to distract himself. "What's the plan? L.A. for the weekend and then back home?"

"Yep," Isaac nods, sitting down across from him. "Erica got a job interview in nearly two weeks so we gotta be back by then."

"That's the only hurry?" Stiles asks. "I mean, don't you all have jobs to get back to?" He meets Derek's eyes, arching an eyebrow. "Don't you gotta get back to the garage?"

Derek shrugs lightly. "Nah, I think I'll take a few more weeks off."

Stiles blinks. "Can you do that?"

"It's my garage," Derek answers, smiling.

Stiles snorts a laughter, rolling his neck and drops his gaze back to the fire pit. He can still feel Derek's gaze on him though, and it makes his heart pound a little faster.

"I wish I was as free as you," he sighs.

 

 

 

 

Derek and Stiles go running Tuesday morning.

They don't know the area so it turns into some kind of exploring mission. It's still strange not to have Yoda's leash in his hand, but Stiles doesn't mind because thanks to the rocky terrain he ends up holding Derek's hand a lot when helping each other over boulders and ditches. Whenever the landscape is plain enough for them to actually _run_ , they match each other's pace and stay side by side. Stiles even speeds up now and then, playfully trying to outrun Derek even though he knows he can't. Derek never goes faster than Stiles, however, so Stiles ends up setting the pace for both of them.

Somehow they end up in a valley with rocky mountains surrounding them; reaching dead ends wherever they turn.

"Maybe we should try climbing," Derek suggests in the end, standing with both hands on his hips as he looks up on the wall before them.

"Are you crazy?" Stiles pants out.

"What?" Derek scoffs, out of breath. "I'm just saying. Don't you want to climb a mountain?"

"If I climb _you_ , does that count?"

Derek snorts. "I don't know." One of his eyebrows arches up. "Wanna give it a shot?"

Stiles smiles, meeting his gaze steadily where they're standing next to each other.

"Later," he decides, "when I'm not trapped in a valley drowning in my own sweat."

Derek laughs, shaking his head. "Come on, then," he sighs, spinning around. "Let's just go back the way we came."

Stiles rolls his neck with a groan, but follows. "Wherever the hell that is."

When they finally get back to camp – completely pumped due to the constant running uphill and Stiles' hair is _dripping_ – they go for a swim in the lake to clean up.

They could've probably gone in naked, because there's no one else around and the gang are still waking up back in camp, but Stiles still puts on his swim trunks. Derek does too, but probably just to not make Stiles feel like a coward. The guy has nothing to be ashamed of.

Derek welcomes it when Stiles swims right into his space and starts kissing his face. Their skin is hot from the sun and the water so cool; Stiles can't help but swiping his tongue over Derek's wet bottom lip. It tastes fresh and _wild_ and he eagerly sucks down on it, urging a dull moan from Derek who shifts to stand. Stiles follows his example; hooking one leg around the back of Derek's thigh.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks against his lips.

"Climbing you," Stiles answers, smiling. "Duh."

Derek groans low in his throat before kissing him hungrily, hands sliding down to cradle Stiles' ass and help him wrap both legs around his waist. The water surface is up to their shoulders, so he's light as a feather, but Stiles bets Derek would still be able to hold him up like this even on land. He loops one arm around Derek's neck and grabs his hair with the other, kissing growing into a battle of hot tongues.

Both of them gasp into each other's mouths when Stiles pushes his hips forward; rubbing their groins together with only the thin fabric of their swimwear separating their growing erections.

"Before I take you home," Derek whispers between kisses, voice rasp and deep, "I will _take you_ for real."

It sounds like a promise.

 

 

 

 

They leave Colorado and head into Arizona to get back on Route 66 on Wednesday.

Stiles never enjoyed driving much when it comes to his old Jeep back home, and even if riding back on Derek's Harley is more amazing than he ever thought driving could be, it's nothing compared to driving down the Mother road of America at full speed. It's so open and beautiful, and if a bunch of cowboys appeared at the side of the road, Stiles wouldn't be surprised.

After three hours of straight driving they pull up to a lonely gas station for fuel. Stiles steps off the bike with ease; familiar with it by now. Isaac must've noticed his newfound grace too because he's sniggering when removing his helmet.

"So what's next?" He asks, rising an eyebrow. "MC license and tattoos?"

"He doesn't need a tattoo to be part of the crew," Boyd says. "I don't have any."

"I have neither of the two, so he's fine," Laura assures, clapping Stiles on the back as she walks by.

On the outside Stiles just smiles, but internally he's euphoric about them all talking as if he's a solid part of the gang. He looks up on the nearest gas counter to try cover up his flush, , and his smile turns into a frown.

"How do you even afford this?" He asks, because _damn_. "And all those sunset rides back at the campground. You wasted a lot of gas on those."

"Not a problem," Derek says carelessly, leaning his hip against the back of the Harley.

"Yeah," Ethan agrees with a sneer. "We got 99 problems and money ain't one of them."

Stiles snorts, eyebrows shooting up in question as he looks over to Laura; trusting her to be frank.

"We earn a lot of money on the garage," she explains, "and we don't spend them on much else than trips like this one."

"And the bikes," Aiden interjects. "If you only knew how much cash I've spent on my baby."

"And of course the bikes," Laura agrees with a light eye-roll.

"Speaking of bikes…" Ethan begins, narrowing his eyes at Derek.

The corners of Derek's mouth twitch up in a sly smile. His eyes are hidden behind the sunglasses but Stiles can tell they are sparkling; they always are when he's internally grinning. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You suck," Ethan sighs, but the punch he lands on Derek's arm is a fond one.

 

 

 

 

Stiles loses his virginity Thursday night; their last night before reaching California.

They've been driving all day and the sun is already down by the time they reach the next motel. Stiles is just about to start chattering teeth and has never been more grateful to get off the Harley. Aiden would no doubt have said something snarky about it if he hadn't been in equal bad shape. No one seems to be in the mood for jokes, and the gang only exchanges a handful words when splitting up after checking in.

Derek nearly stumbles inside the room as soon as he's unlocked the door, and Stiles can't hold back the chuckle slipping out of him. He closes the door behind them, locking it and starts searching for the light switch in the dark. He drops his bag on the floor and fumbles on the wall but can't find anything.

"Leave it," Derek mumbles from somewhere inside the dark room. "My eyes will just burn anyway."

Stiles shrugs, too sleepy to care that he can't see shit, and steps further into the room. He walks slowly, afraid to collide with something while holding out his hands to protect himself. The thin curtains are closed by the window, only offering a faint light that's enough to at least make out the walls in the small motel room.

"Where are you?" He asks, smiling stupidly to himself because this is kind of ridiculous.

"On the bed," comes Derek's low response from somewhere to his right.

Stiles turns to where it's coming from but still can't see anything but dark shapes.

"Where?"

The next second he's being yanked forward by two hands grabbing his wrists, his knees hitting the edge of the bed as he falls down to land on top of Derek on the bed with a surprised gasp.

"Here," Derek murmurs, smiling against his cheek.

Stiles chuckles, catching his breath and steadies himself on knees and elbows not to crush Derek, even if most of his weight still remains on top of him. He shifts again, confused when Derek lets out a heavy breath through his nose before feeling the bulge poke against his thigh. Stiles smiles, dipping his head down to nuzzle Derek's neck as he can feel his own dick react to the evidence of Derek's arousal of having him on top of him.

"Happy to see me?" He mumbles.

"I _can't_ see you."

"Right," Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes despite no one being able to see it.

Derek tilts his head to the side, placing his lips just above Stiles' ear, hot breath making him shudder.

"But I'm happy to have you here," he says, voice deep and full of emotion. "I'm happy to be with you."

Stiles swallows, pushing away the feeling that there should be a _for now_ somewhere to the end of that. Neither of them can know what's gonna happen after tomorrow, when they both have to return home. This road trip can't last forever—he knows that—and while the last thing he wants is to let Derek go, he's got no clue what it'll be like to be with someone whose life is on the other side of the U.S.

Instead of using words to reply, he captures Derek's mouth in a hard kiss; because no matter what comes after this they still have tonight. Derek sighs softly into the kiss, sending a vibration down Stiles' throat. Hands slowly slide up to his hips, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. Stiles gasps against Derek's lips, because for once his fingertips are cold from the long exposure to the wind. Derek chuckles, taking advantage of Stiles' mouth falling open and licks into it.

He lowers himself on Derek, shifting enough to make their hard-ons press against each other. They groan in unison, Stiles persistent to maintain the kissing even when it turns sloppy and uncoordinated. He sinks down into Derek's lap, starting to rock his hips while keeping himself up on his elbows on each side of Derek's head. The hands on his hips tighten their grip, fingers digging into his skin. Stiles' breath catches as Derek's thumbs slip beneath the edge of his jeans and the waistband of his boxers, tracing his pointy hipbones.

"We're wearing too much clothes," he murmurs.

A huff of warm air hits him in the face, and then he can feel a smile brushing against his cheek.

"You sure you'll still want me without my leather jacket?"

"I don't want you for your jacket," Stiles snorts. "And you're one to talk—you wanted me for my _dog_."

Derek huffs again, and as Stiles waits for his comeback, their noses brush together.

"I _found_ you thanks to your dog," he says eventually, and the sarcasm is nowhere to be found. "I've wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you."

Stiles stills for a moment, breathing hot air out over Derek's face. His heart is beating faster than it was one minute ago, and there's a stir of _longing_ deep in his gut. The butterflies in his stomach are going wild as he swallows, leaning in to rest his forehead on Derek's.

"I want all of you," he whispers. "Now."

Derek doesn't move for a second, and Stiles is pretty sure he even holds his breath, as if he's not sure Stiles really means it. Stiles _does_ mean it, and in an attempt to make Derek understand that he runs one of his hands through Derek's hair, twisting it around his fingers and _holds on_. At that Derek moans softly, his body coming back to life and the next second their mouths are on each other again.

Stiles barely has time to start responding to the kiss before Derek makes them switch positions, hands pulling at his hips before he's suddenly lying flat on his back. Derek is above him, sitting back on his calves while straddling his legs. Stiles' eyes must've have started to adapt to the dim darkness because he can see more than just blurry shapes now; can see Derek in the faint light from the window as he starts crawling out of his jacket.

"Wait," he breathes, sitting up as well. Derek stills, but Stiles reaches out to grab him by the collar before he's got time to worry whether Stiles has changed his mind. "Let me do it."

Derek blinks, looking as if he wants to ask and make sure he really wants where this is going. It's not the first time. During their week they've spent every night together in a handful different motel rooms, and naturally they haven't been able to keep their hands off each other. They've spent every night in the same bed, and despite them still not having gone further than that night back on the campground, Derek has kept making sure Stiles is okay with everything they do.

This is the first time he doesn't. Maybe it's because he should know by now that Stiles would never do something he doesn't want to, or maybe he manages to catch the burning lust in Stiles' eyes despite the bad light. Whatever the reason: Stiles feels his heart skip when Derek just nods, chest heaving and a soft smile appearing on his lips.

Stiles puts both hands on Derek's shoulders, sliding the leather jacket off of them. Derek's eyes are fixed on him while helping angling shoulders and arms to get it off, and Stiles smiles under his heavy gaze. It's become less of a bother to have Derek watching him like that. He still feels exposed, but he's starting to realize that he's got nothing to be ashamed of. At least not with Derek, who looks at him like he's everything he ever could've asked for. He likes it; the way Derek's pupils always dilate whenever there's another inch of his skin to go uncovered or just look him in the eye as if he's _studying_ him. As if he's a puzzle which Derek wants to solve.

Once the jacket comes off Stiles drops it somewhere in the dark beside the bed. He hears it landing on the floor with a soft thud, wondering for a split second if Derek minds his precious jacket being thrown to the floor before seeing how he's still being watched without even as much as the blink of an eye.

He doesn't even hesitate to go for Derek's t-shirt next, seizing the hem and hears the soft inhale of air as his fingertips brushes against the hot skin beneath. Stiles takes in the sight of Derek's stomach and chest as he lifts the shirt up, still in awe despite the fact that he's seen the guy shirtless plenty of times at this point. It doesn't come off as easily as the jacket, Stiles having to struggle a little to get it past Derek's broad shoulders. Derek chuckles quietly when offering to help, and despite Stiles expecting it to feel awkward, it doesn't.

As soon as the shirt joins the jacket on the floor, Stiles reaches up to place his hands on each side of Derek's neck, slowly sliding them down to trace the collarbone with his fingertip, the shoulders and the veins on his arms as he moves further down. He spreads his palms over Derek's abs, heart in his throat as he slides them to hold Derek's sides and leans down to cover one nipple with his mouth. The rumbling sound Derek lets out makes his chest vibrate against Stiles' lips, and it's enough encouragement for him to keep going. His fingers dig into the warm skin on Derek's hips, tongue flickering over the nib which pulls another and slightly more desperate noise from Derek. Stiles smiles faintly to himself as he licks the warm skin around Derek's nipple, dragging his tongue along the outside of his pec and tracing the edge of his firm muscles. Derek's whole chest is incredible, and sometimes Stiles still can't believe anyone actually looks like that—even less the guy he spends his nights with.

"Stiles," Derek breathes, chest heaving against Stiles' mouth. The hands which he's kept still at his sides till now comes up to tug at the shoulders of Stiles' remaining jacket. "Get it off."

But he gets it off all on his own before Stiles can even begin to assist him, throwing it somewhere where Stiles can't even hear it land this time because he's too focused on Derek who unsurprisingly doesn't share his problem with taking shirts off because it's gone only seconds later.

Derek puts a hand flat on his chest and pushes him back, urging him to lie down on his back again. Stiles obliges, heart only skipping a short beat under Derek's palm at the thought of where this is going. His head hits the pillow, and he only has the time to let out two heavy breaths before Derek is leaning down to claim his mouth in a kiss. Stiles groans in approval and grabs a handful of Derek's hair to eagerly return it. Their lips slide together, soon parting to let their hot tongues meet as the kiss grows wet and sloppy.

By the time Derek pulls back to let them both breathe, Stiles' heart is pounding in both excitement and comfort, and he suspects that was the plan.

"I think there's a lamp on the bedside table," Derek whispers with a small smile, brushing his nose on Stiles' gently. "Can I turn it on?"

He doesn't say it this time, but Stiles can read it off his face even in this light. _I want to see you_.

"Go ahead," he says, well aware of the uneasy tingle somewhere in his stomach but tries to ignore it.

Derek knows about it too, and places a simple kiss to his cheek as a reward for still accepting. Stiles swallows as Derek reaches for the side of the bed, nearly squinting his eyes because he doesn't want to be blinded by the light. Turns out his fear is for nothing when Derek's fumbling hand finally finds the switch and the lamp lights up the bed in a low and warm light. It's cozy, and suddenly Stiles can't help but wonder if the owners keep in mind to give the motel rooms nightlights that fit for sex. He can't decide if he's more embarrassed or proud of what the receptionist must've assumed when they booked the room with a king-size bed.

His breath catches a little when Derek sits back to look at him again, this time with enough light for both of them to see each other properly. The new light makes Derek's tanned skin glow, and while he's not sweating yet Stiles can see the area on his left pec glistening from his own saliva. He feels smug about it, but doesn't succeed in pulling a smirk as Derek slides his palm up his body and instead makes his gasp.

"You're so beautiful," Derek says, eyes drifting over Stiles' naked torso where his hand touches. His voice is so unashamed and the familiar depth to his eyes are back while staring him down. "So gorgeous."

It's the most cheesy compliment, but it still makes Stiles blush; eyes watching Derek's muscles flex rather than the awe in his face. He stays down but reaches up to run two fingers down the dark happy trail, hooking them in the waistband where it disappears inside Derek's jeans. It makes Derek grin as well as groan, and Stiles is pretty sure he's not the only one proud of his move when they lock eyes again.

With something that resembles a dull growl, Derek leans in to mouth at Stiles' throat, right above his beating pulse. He shuffles on the bed as he moves his lips and tongue further down to Stiles' collarbone, pulling a heavy sigh out of him. The air around them suddenly feels thicker—hotter—as if someone turned up the heat in the room. Stiles' heart throbs under Derek's mouth as he moves down Stiles' body, dropping wet kisses and rubbing his stubble on his skin like a cat as he does.

At first Stiles can only see Derek's hair when looking down, but as he moves downwards and arches his back further, his shoulder blades soon comes into view. Stiles reaches out to touch the triskelion with one of his hands, smiling to himself and letting out a heavy puff of air when he can feel Derek's whole body vibrate as he hums.

Stiles' hand moves to the back of Derek's neck and hair when the rest of him gets out of reach, and then Derek is scratching his chin at Stiles' hip, nipping at his hipbone. Stiles whines, but not because it hurts. He likes it when Derek does that, and judging by the amount of times Derek's mouth and fingers have traveled down there during the past week, so does he. It's not enough of a bite to break the skin, and Derek darts his tongue over the spot right after withdrawing his teeth as if sealing the non-existent wound. Stiles' heart flutters at the gesture, remembering looking at himself in the mirror the other morning and almost feeling disappointed that there's no mark or evidence of Derek on his hip.

Derek is moving down to kiss the area right below Stiles' bellybutton as he reach for the jeans' zipper, and Stiles hisses at the two things happening at once. He unconsciously tugs at Derek's hair, and the grunt right above his crotch goes straight to his dick. His heart skips a beat when Derek lifts his head to look at him as unzips Stiles' pants; partly because of how intense and dark Derek's eyes are, watching  him under dark eyelashes, but also because usually they go back to the kissing whenever their pants are coming off. But Derek doesn't move back up; he nudges Stiles' legs open and settles between them on the bed, his face hovering above Stiles' groin and starts tugging at his jeans.

"Fuck," Stiles groans the moment he realizes what Derek is going for. Or at least: what he _hopes_ Derek is going for. His arms drop heavy on the mattress, mind going blank as he tries to figure out what to do with his hands or himself in general. "Derek."

It's neither a question or a plea; he just needs to speak Derek's name because it's suddenly the only thing on his mind. That, and the hands purposely pushing his trousers down his legs and the hot breath curling over his navel. He manages to step out of the jeans when Derek easily pulls them down to his ankles before having them join the rest of their shed clothes in the darkness surrounding them. Stiles' breath hitches at Derek putting his hand down his boxers without a warning, fingers wrapping around his semi-hard cock while pulling the underwear down his thighs with his free hand.

This is when Derek crawls back up on the bed to kiss him, all tongue and wet mouth. Stiles moans breathily into it, his hand back in action when instinctively grabbing Derek's bicep. The hand holding around the base of his dick doesn't move, doesn't even squeeze, as if Derek simply paused what he'd been doing to just kiss him. Stiles still arches up into it, hips lifting off the bed before Derek's second hand holds him down by the waist. He whimpers desperately, and Derek sucks on his bottom lip as if to make it up for him.

When pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, Derek looks just as wrecked as Stiles feels. He's panting hot air into Stiles' face, lips kiss-bruised and red.

"I've wanted to put my mouth on you—all of you," he confesses huskily, "ever since that night on the beach."

There's a faint flush spreading across his face; as if he's embarrassed by how much he _wants it_ , and it's a goddamn miracle Stiles doesn't come all over Derek's hand from that alone.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes out, fighting the urge to buck his hips when his cock twitches, despite the hand on his hip holding him in place. He's not even sure which night Derek is referring to—the party or the his mud-bath—but he realizes it doesn't matter. "Derek, just—"

And Derek doesn't waste more time on dragging things out; he ducks down to quickly nip at Stiles' jaw before moving back down his body again. The noise escaping him when feeling Derek's hot breath curl over his cock is an embarrassing one, but Stiles is almost too gone to care. Derek is once again out of his reach so his hands drop back on the bed, fisting the sheets in an attempt to hold still.

He moans loudly when Derek finally moves his hand up and back down once before leaning down to lick the underside of his dick. Stiles forces himself to look away, knowing he'll come within seconds if he keeps watching Derek between his legs. The blood in his veins rushes south, and he's rock-hard within seconds. He squeezes his eyes shut on feeling Derek's wet and hot tongue run up his length again, mouth falling open in another moan.

When Derek's lips close around the head of his cock, slowly sinking down to take him into the heat and wetness of his mouth, Stiles' reaches down to tremble with his hand in Derek's hair with a soft gasp. He feels the strong urge to twist his fingers in Derek's hair and tug, needs to hold onto something else than the sheets that are slipping beneath him. Derek must notice because the next second he's pulling off, lifting his head to look up just as Stiles looks down at him again.

"You can pull my hair," he informs, voice low and rumbling in a way that makes Stiles' stomach flip and cock throb violently. "I want you to."

"God," is all Stiles can say, fingers tightening their grip almost mechanically, hearing as well as _feeling_ Derek groan in response as his mouth returns to Stiles' dick.

Derek's teeth are covered by his lips as he sinks down, and Stiles can feel his tongue press against the underside of his throbbing cock, tracing a vein. Stiles can't make himself look away again, tilting his head on the pillow and watches Derek starting to bob his head up and down. Another gasps slips out of him, pulling lightly at Derek's tousled hair in his fist. The groan he receives in response feels like an encouraging one, so he does it again with a little more strength than before. Derek lets go of his dick and instead wraps both hands around his thighs as he keeps going, and Stiles moans when realizing how he takes in a little more of him every time he goes down.

"Fuck," Stiles can't help but slur, slamming his head back on the pillow when a wave of pleasure washes over his whole body.

He can't help but thrusting his hips up when there are no hands holding him down anymore, and he bites his lip when expecting to choke Derek. But Derek just _hums_ , fingers digging into Stiles' thighs and exhales through his nose, and Stiles groans loudly as he does it again. He uses his heels for leverage when lifting his hips up and pulls Derek's hair in sync to thrust into his mouth. Stiles' breath hitches, chest clenching by the feel of the warmth and wetness surrounding his cock. And Derek just _takes_ it; lets Stiles grab a fistful of his hair and fuck his mouth while he keeps sucking.

When Stiles feels the head of his dick hit the back of Derek's throat his orgasm rips through him so fast and hard he doesn't even have time to give Derek a warning. All air escapes his lungs and he gasps with his mouth wide open, only spending the fraction of a second to wonder how thick these walls are before realizing it doesn't matter because he can't keep quiet anyhow. He stills his hips as he comes, forcing his fingers to loosen their grip to let Derek pull away, but he doesn't move; he lets Stiles' cock pulse and spill down his throat and _swallows_.

Stiles lifts his head from the pillow to look down, well aware of the embarrassing noises slipping out of him but is too far gone to care. His cock twitches and spurts one last time at the sight of Derek's hollow cheeks before he's all spent and starts to get sensitive. Derek pulls off, and Stiles whines at the air curling over his softening dick.

"I'm sorry," he pants out. "I didn't mean to— I wanted to last longer."

But Derek just smiles softly, hot breath ghosting over Stiles' sweaty skin as he moves back up his body, pausing to drop sloppy kisses in the hollow of his throat.

"It's okay," he murmurs reassuringly, mouthing up Stiles' jaw. "We've got all night."

Derek sounds a little breathless, and Stiles' heart jolts at his words. It makes him relax as well as work himself up even further.

"You do realize that was my first blowjob, right?" He scoffs, breathless. "And you just set the bar really freaking high."

Derek growls low in his throat, sounding just like Yoda, and it's probably ridiculous how that makes Stiles' heart jump in excitement.

"Good," he simply says before capturing Stiles' mouth in a filthy kiss.

Stiles moans into it, hands clasping the back of Derek's neck. He can taste himself on Derek's tongue and is genuinely surprised to find that it's not exactly unpleasant. It makes him wonder what it'd be like to return the favor, and then he feels Derek lazily humping the inside of his thigh, still hard and trapped in his tight jeans.

"I wanna suck you too," he mumbles, tilting his head back to interrupt the kiss enough to speak.

Derek breathes heavily into his face, dark eyes darting between his eyes and parted lips.

"You don't have to," he says after a pause.

"But I want to," Stiles assures, slipping one hand down between them to palm Derek through his pants, making him groan against Stiles' cheek and thrust up into his hand. "And so do you."

A dull groan vibrates through Derek's body, making Stiles shudder with pride and anticipation.

"God, Stiles, yes," Derek whispers, ducking his head down into the curve of his neck while his hips keep rutting into Stiles' palm. "Your mouth— I want— Have you seen yourself eat?"

Stiles chuckles breathlessly, nudging Derek to help them roll over and switch positions on the bed. Derek lands on his back, chest heaving and legs spreading slightly when Stiles reaches for his belt.

"Yeah, and it's a mess. You know that."

The memory of Derek reaching out to wipe ketchup off his face is enough to make him feel his cheeks flush, but it also would've made his dick react if he hadn't come harder than he's done his entire teenage life barely two minutes ago.

"I wanted to lick your face clean," Derek blurts out, not looking the slightest flustered about it when Stiles lifts his gaze back up to catch the _desire_ on Derek's face.

"Oh my god," he slurs, amazed by himself for successfully undoing Derek's belt so easily despite his palms being sweaty and body still tingling from his orgasm.

He knows he's being watched even as he looks back down to unzip and tug Derek's jeans down; can feel the heavy and familiar gaze on him. It makes his heart pound a little faster, but doesn't make him want to cover up or shy away from the light.

Derek places both hands flat on the bed when lifting his hips to help Stiles pull his pants and boxers down, his fully hard erection slipping free against his stomach along with a soft moan. Stiles licks his lips, dragging Derek's jeans and underwear off his legs while keeping his eyes fixed on Derek's dick. It's thicker than his own, head already swollen and veins pulsing—and he hasn't even touched it yet.

A hum from above makes him look up again, and finds Derek watching his face with intense eyes. Stiles swallows, licking his lips again and catches the way Derek's gaze falls to his mouth to track the motion of his tongue. It makes a weak smile pull at the corner of his lips, feeling proud to be the one making Derek this hard, to put that look on his face.

It's only with a faint insecurity he sinks down between Derek's thighs, legs spreading on each side of him as he wraps his fingers around Derek's dick, receiving a heavy sigh when pumping it once in his hand. He's done this before, all the other nights they've jerked each other off before collapsing in the several other motel rooms they've encountered during the week, so hand-jobs are something he knows he's getting pretty good at. He knows the sounds he can draw out of Derek, but this time he wants more.

He licks the head experimentally, right over the slit, earning a small gasp from Derek who grips lightly at the sheets. Stiles does it again, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip to savor the taste. It's not bad; it tastes and smells just like Derek always does—hot skin and sweat—only _stronger_.

Derek is watching him, still lying flat on his back but got his head tilted to rest his chin on his shoulder, eyes fixed on Stiles between his legs. His lips are parted, chest heaving as he breathes heavy but steadily. The flush on his face sends a shiver down Stiles' spine when looking up at him, and their gazes meet. Stiles' heart skips a beat as he darts his tongue over one of the veins, maintaining eye-contact as a groan leaves Derek's lips.

One of the hands holding the sheets travels down to tread fingers through Stiles' hair. It's neither a tug or even a grab; just a hand running over Stiles' scalp in a way that makes the butterflies in his stomach stir. Derek's hips don't rise from the bed when Stiles wraps his lips around Derek's cock and sinks down either, and it's obvious that he wants to make this easy for Stiles; doesn't want to be too rough.

And this may be Stiles' first time, and he doesn't know exactly what to do, but at least he knows what _not_ to do. He makes sure to cover up his teeth and let Derek's dick slide against his tongue as he starts to move up and down, just like Derek had done to him. He's never put his gag reflex to the test and is careful not to go too deep, not wanting to choke on Derek's cock that's hot and heavy and _twitching_ inside his mouth. Stiles relaxes his jaw, eyes remaining shut as he closes his lips a little tighter around Derek. Small, desperate noises keep coming out of him, but he remains still on the bed.

When the fingers lazily petting his hair actually twist and grabs a hold of him, Stiles risks a glance back up to Derek's face, and it's insane how the blood in his veins rushes south at the sight. Derek looks _wrecked_ ; eyes tightly closed and lips parted despite holding back the noises. His chest is heaving fast, his body trembling and muscles flexing, looking as if he's doing everything he can not to push up into Stiles' mouth with force.

The moans Stiles can't help but hold back sends a vibration up his throat and Derek _whines_ , his cock twitching as he slowly opens his eyes. His pupils are blown to the point where there's only a thin ring of iris outlining them, and Stiles can feel his own dick starting to get interested again.

"Stiles," Derek suddenly pants out, popping himself up on one elbow and pulls at his hold of Stiles' hair. "Stiles, stop."

Surprised, Stiles pulls off with a wet sound to give Derek a questioning look, worry twisting in his gut.

"Why?" He asks, inhaling deeply with his mouth hanging open. "Was it—"

"I want to fuck you," Derek rasps. "Please say you still want it too, because I don't think I can—"

"Yes," Stiles breathes out, cutting off Derek's _whimpering_ that makes his whole body flood hot. He lets go off Derek's throbbing dick and crawls up the bed where Derek meets him half-way, slamming their mouths together in a messy kiss. "Yes," he repeats in a whisper.

Derek growls low in the back of his throat, and it makes Stiles' whole body tingle. He sucks on Stiles' tongue as if wanting to taste, and it's probably the dirtiest thing Stiles has ever experienced. It also does absolutely nothing to keep himself from hardening against Derek's thigh. He's not sure how the hell his body managed to recover so fast, but having Derek naked in bed beneath him may have something to do with it.

"My bag," Derek mumbles against Stiles' lips, as if he can't simply stop kissing him. "I gotta—"

He pushes Stiles back with a grunt, slipping off the bed and dives for his bag somewhere on the floor. Stiles sits back on his knees in the center of the bed, heart slamming in his chest and breath coming out in short pants. _This is it_ , he realizes, wondering if he should be more or less freaked out than he is.

Reappearing from the darkness, Derek crawls back on the bed with something in his hand. Stiles' heart only has the time to skip a quick beat when realizing it's a bottle of lube and a condom, and then Derek's mouth is on him again. He muffles something against Derek's lips despite not having anything to say, hands gripping at Derek's sides just to keep himself from flailing.

Maybe Derek can tell the way his heart is racing. Maybe that's why he licks into Stiles' mouth without any rush and not doing anything else for a long moment, until Stiles relaxes again, kissing away all his insecurities.

They're both breathless when Derek eventually tilts his chin down to interrupt the kiss. Stiles heavily rests his forehead against Derek's, his heart now pounding with affection and excitement rather than worry. Derek gives him a small smile, sliding up his free hand to stroke one side of Stiles' face. It sends a shiver down Stiles' whole body, and he's pretty sure his pale skin is flushed at this point because he feels warm all over.

He expects Derek to ask him once again if he's okay, if he's sure, but isn't disappointed when he doesn't.

"Get on your hands and knees."

It's more of a request than an order, but Stiles obeys without hesitation. His legs tremble only a little as he turns around, facing the pillows and presenting Derek his backside—which is something he's never done other than when they're spooning. When they kiss it's always with their fronts pressed together, hands pulling each other closer. He feels more vulnerable like this, not being able to see Derek or what he's doing.

But Derek stays close, nudging him with a bump of his nose until he's in position. He drops what he's holding next to him on the bed and leans forward, draping himself over Stiles' back as if they were about to drift off to sleep. Biggest difference is of course Derek's erection poking the back of Stiles' thigh.

"It'll be good," Derek rumbles, placing gentle kisses at the top of his spine. "I promise I'll make it good."

Stiles means to chuckle, because he's never had any doubts about that, but it comes out like a shaky groan as Derek leans in to drag his parted lips over his ear. He shudders, humming happily before Derek pulls back and the heat of him disappears.

The sound of the cap coming off only makes his heart jolt a little, but he doesn't move. He looks down on the pillows in front of him and waits. He can't hear much else than their heavy breathing, but there's shuffling behind him. When one of Derek's hands lands on the small of his back, Stiles makes a noise he can't name, but it's probably in anticipation. Derek huffs softly as he slides his hand down to the curve of Stiles' ass, and Stiles bites his lip and smiles weakly to himself at the tingle shooting up his spine. The palm kneading his ass is warm, but the finger brushing over his hole a moment later is cold and _slick_ and draws a gasps out of him.

It doesn't hurt too much when Derek starts pushing in, slow and steady; it mostly just feels weird. His dick twitches between his legs, working to go hard again as the finger inside him slides further inside. He's tight, and while his own fingers are long, Derek's are thicker and pressing against his insides in a pleasing way, despite the small burn. Derek definitely didn't hold back on the lube.

"Have you done this before?" Derek asks, as if he just read Stiles' mind, voice low and nearly hoarse.

"Yeah," Stiles admits, sucking in a sharp breath upon feeling Derek's knuckles against his rim. He lets out a shaky breath. "Been awhile though."

Because he may be a teenager who's probably too curious for his own good, but he's still impatient about most things and that includes masturbation. He's got no tools for it, but has tried a few things in the shower when having soap and water in his favor. Finding the right angle has proved to be a challenge however so most of the time he just jerks off without being experimental.

Derek makes a noise that makes Stiles shiver, because it's definitely an approving one. He rubs his finger inside Stiles, starting to pull out before moving back in again. Stiles grasps the sheets in his hands.

"How many?"

"Only one," Stiles breathes out, catching himself pressing back.

A moan slips out of him when Derek's finger hits the bundle of nerves located deep inside of him, a hot wave of pleasure washing over him. Derek growls as he repeats the motion, hitting the same spot again. Stiles' breath hitches, and he's semi-hard dick jolts at the sensation.

"Shit," he chokes out, lowering himself to his elbows when his arms starts to shake.

Derek hums like he agrees, rubbing against Stiles' prostate to shoot sparks of pleasure up his spine before pulling back and out. Stiles groans at the sudden feeling of being empty, but feels Derek return with a second finger only two rapid heartbeats later. It burns again, stretching him further open, but as soon as Derek finds that spot again the feeling shuts out the remaining pain.

Stiles doesn't realize he's lowered himself on the bed until the mattress touches the tip of his cock, and the small friction is enough for his hips to stutter. Derek is thrusting into him with two fingers now, finding his prostate nearly every time and Stiles starts to rock with it. He drops his head down to rest on his forearms, dragging his erection over the sheets along with his moving hips.

"Good," Derek whispers, and the thickness in his voice sends another shiver down Stiles' spine. "You're doing so good."

It's a miracle he doesn't fall over the edge right then and there, and Stiles is pretty sure the only reason he doesn't is because he's already come once. He moans loudly, moving his weight over to one arm to be able to reach down and wrap around his straining dick in his hand, squeezing the base.

"Derek," he pants, feeling almost dizzy by the way his balls tighten at his touch. "I can't— You better stop before I'll—"

And Derek withdraws his fingers in a heartbeat, growling lowly right above Stiles' ass. He drops a few sloppy kisses on his lower back, as if he just can't help himself, before leaving him untouched.

"You wanna stay like this?" He asks.

Stiles considers it, swallowing down a dry throat. "No," he says eventually, straightening his arms again as a weak smile spreads across his lips. "I wanna see you."

He's pretty sure that's a chuckle, but Derek is so breathless it may as well be a moan.

Stiles falls to his side and rolls onto his back, legs spreading and hands clasping the covers. Derek shifts between his legs, eyes on Stiles as he rips the condom open _with his teeth_. His hair is a mess, damp and glistening and looking even worse than when he's pulled off the helmet after a long ride. There's a flush spread across his face, and Stiles wouldn't take it as anything but heat and arousal if it hadn't been for how his hands seem to fumble when he rolls the condom down his length and reaches for the lube again.

"Derek," he breathes, "could you explain to me the logic of _you_ looking nervous right now?"

Derek stills, chest heaving as he meets Stiles' gaze with blown pupils.

"I'm fine," he assures, voice low. "I just—" He swallows, and Stiles watches his Adam's apple bob. "I've never wanted anyone like I want you."

Stiles blinks once, his chest rising and falling rapidly in sync with his ragged breathing. But then he just smiles, genuine and easy. That intense depth is back in Derek's eyes, gaze drifting over Stiles' face and body where he's all laid out in front of him. A smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth in return, and if it hadn't been for the adoration written all over his face he would've looked like a predator hovering above its prey.

Derek seems to remember what he was doing when Stiles tilts his chin up and shifts his heels on the mattress in a silent invitation, and Derek takes it. He gets a hold of the lube and slicks himself up, scooting forward to get into position. Stiles can feel how wet his fingers are as they brush over his knees when lining himself up.

Stiles' breath catches when feeling the head of Derek's cock brush against his entrance, more out of realization than anything else. His hands holds rightly at the covers on the bed, legs wrapping around Derek's body as he begins to push in. Derek's holding the base of his cock with one hand, guiding himself inside while keeping the other spread on Stiles' hip. His thumb makes small circles over the skin there, and he goes slow. At first there's only a faint burn not much different from Derek's fingers.

Derek lets go of his shaft and leans over Stiles, hands flat on each side of him on the bed as he keeps sliding in. Their gazes meet just as Stiles gasps, body going tense at the first sparks of pain when he's being stretched further than Derek's two fingers could provide. He lets his mouth fall open, eyes on Derek who's hovering above him. He clutches harder at the sheets to keep himself from squirming away, knowing it'll pass. Derek's breath is unsteady and hot in his face, but his hips continue their slow pace.

Once he bottoms out, and Stiles can feel his balls against his ass, Derek stops altogether. Stiles grunts, his breath coming out in short pants. He knows how big Derek is, but he never imagined what it'd be like to have him inside of him. He feels incredibly full and stretched. Derek ducks his head down to kiss him, deep and long without moving. Stiles does his best to kiss back, groaning into Derek's lips when he licks into his mouth.

"Move," he croaks out eventually, knowing Derek must be dying to.

And Derek doesn't need to be told twice, lifting himself back up on arms-length and moves his hips back to pull out a little before pushing back in. Stiles moans, hands abandoning the bed's covers to instead grab at Derek's arms, needing to hold on to something solid. Derek keeps his eyes fixed on Stiles' face as he starts thrusting in a slow pace, as if he wants to see Stiles' reaction. Stiles knows he's blushing furiously but he's too overwhelmed to care.

He's not as hard anymore, his dick lying heavy and untouched on his stomach. Stiles is just about to reach down and touch himself in an attempt to ebb out the burn and discomfort when Derek angles his next thrust _just right_ and hits that spot inside him again, and all Stiles can do is gasp and dig his fingers into Derek's arms. Derek lets out a low rumbling sound in triumph, and Stiles can see the level of concentration on his face when going for the same spot again.

It doesn't take long until the pain fades away completely, replaced by sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine and makes his whole body jolt. His breath comes out in short puffs of air in sync with Derek's thrusts that remain steady and carefully paced.

"Fuck, Stiles," Derek gasps out above him. "You're so tight." Stiles groans, not able to form words. Apparently Derek doesn't mind because his hips snap out of rhythm along with a low grunt before picking the pace back up. "Fuck, you're perfect," he rasps.

Stiles whimpers, feeling his cock twitch against his stomach. He wants to slide his hand down and squeeze it, pump it hard and long with Derek's coordinated thrusts, but he doubts Derek is as close as he is and doesn't want to ruin it. He's positive he won't be able to come more than twice on the same night. Instead he holds Derek's arms even tighter, heels digging into Derek's back with below the triskelion.

Eventually Derek speeds up a little, rocking his hips to a quicker rhythm, as if he's noticed Stiles adapting to the sensation. They moan in unison, panting out hot air into the thin space between them. Stiles can see Derek's whole torso glistening with sweat now, flushed areas spread out across his skin. His muscles are flexing in the most stunning way, and the thought of his body working to fuck into Stiles is even more overwhelming.

It dawns on him then how Derek is holding back for his sake, putting such effort into keeping the rhythm of his thrusts steady as if making sure Stiles can take it. His arms are shuddering and breath ragged like he's forcing himself not to let his lust take over; to go faster, harder. And maybe he's not only holding back tonight. Maybe he's been holding back all week. Maybe since the first time they met.

"Don't—" Stiles gasps out, having to pause and moan at Derek hitting his prostate and regretting all the times he called bullshit on people saying it made them see stars because _fuck_. "Don't hold back," he whispers into the thick air. "Stop holding back."

Derek _whines_ , and next he drops down on his elbows, bringing their bodies flush together as he speeds up his movements. Stiles groans at his own dick getting trapped between them, gaining friction from Derek's abs rubbing against it by each snap of his hips. He's pounding into him now, scratching his chin and cheek against Stiles' jaw, his breath hot and erratic over his bared throat, right above his flying pulse. The room is filled with the sound of the bed creaking, the slap of slick skin-on-skin and the desperate noises rushing out of both of them.

Derek comes with a whimper, stilling his hips when he's buried deep inside of Stiles and shudders. It takes Stiles by surprise, and he moans at feeling the dick inside him pulse. He slips a hand down in the tight space between their bodies and gets a hand on his own cock, squeezing and rubbing the head only a few times before his own climax hits him. He comes all over both their stomachs, hard and intense, and Stiles is pretty sure he even holds his breath as the sensation washes over him.

None of them move as they slowly come down from their high, both of them panting loudly. Stiles has never heard Derek sound so wrecked, and knowing it's all because of him makes the butterflies in his stomach stir, clearly not caring that the rest of his body is getting over-sensitive.

He feels boneless when Derek eventually sits back, groaning softly as he pulls out of him. It leaves him feeling incredibly empty, and most of all he just wants to curl into himself and let the sleepiness overtake him. He doesn't have the time to move before Derek is leaning over him again though, rubbing the sticky mess off Stiles' stomach with the shirt Stiles had taken off him earlier. Stiles hums as Derek cleans him up, blinking tiredly up into Derek's face above him. He's a mess, but Stiles can bet a hundred bucks he's even worse himself.

Derek disappears for a short moment, and Stiles is close to dozing off before he returns. He lies down next to Stiles on the bed, steadying himself on his elbows and he leans over him again. They kiss, slowly and tenderly, and when Stiles is too tired to even keep that up Derek ducks down to nose at his neck and throat, inhaling a deep breath before sighing contently.

"Why do you do that?" Stiles murmurs, absently treading his fingers through Derek's damp hair. It's not the first time, and while he finds it kind of sweet, he's still curious.

Derek shrugs almost shyly. "I don't know. Some people smell good."

Stiles hums, tightening his hold of Derek's hair to pull his head up to look him in the eye.

"So do I pass your test?" He asks with a weak smile.

Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat, and the vibration goes through Stiles the way they are pressed together.

"You pass every test," he says simply before capturing Stiles' mouth in a final kiss.

 

 

 

 

The next morning Stiles wakes up to Derek still holding him in his arms, not an inch of air left between their naked bodies.

Outside the sun is up, and Stiles can feel the warm sunlight reach through the window and touch him all along his side, warming up the bed to the point where the whole room feels overheated. He can feel the sheets clinging to his ankles, his skin damp and back practically burning where it's pressed against Derek's hot chest. The air feels thick when he inhales, eyelids heavy as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes.

It takes a moment for him to realize that Derek is already awake, his breathing light and even into the back of his neck. Stiles sighs happily, dropping his hand to where Derek's is resting on his hip to intertwine their fingers. There's a low humming behind him, then a lazy kiss placed right below his hairline. Stiles smiles to himself, eyes starting to flutter shut again.

Neither of them speaks for a long time, and maybe Stiles even drifts back to sleep for a moment, because when Derek finally breaks the silence his eyes snap open at the sound.

"Ready to go home?"

Stiles heart sinks as he swallows. He almost wishes Derek had kept quiet, but he knows they can't keep running from reality anymore. They've already extended it by a week.

"Ready to let me go?" He asks in return, deciding to turn around in Derek's arms.

Derek got sweat drops covering one side of his neck where the sun is still resting over his golden skin, his hair damp and just as much of a mess as last night. The expression on his face makes Stiles' heart ache, but not in the good way.

"No," he says.

"Then no," Stiles says back.

But they both know it doesn't matter this time.

They both lean in at the same time, foreheads touching and noses bumping before they kiss. It's slow and wet and warm and everything Stiles needs. Everything he wants to keep.

It's the first time Stiles drags Derek with him into the shower.

 

 

 

 

They part ways in the desert outside San Bernardino: the rest of the gang heading for Los Angeles while Derek and Stiles continue up north to Beacon Hills. Stiles had said his goodbyes before they mounted up back at the motel, but it still doesn't feel enough when waving them off in the crossroad.

Laura had stolen  his phone—which Stiles first turned back on this morning to find about a hundred texts and a dozen missed calls from his dad—and snapped a bunch of pictures of the gang. She told them to look as innocent as possible so the sheriff wouldn't freak out, despite Stiles assuring her that he's most likely furious already. He doubts he'll ever show his dad any of them, but he doesn't mind having the pictures for himself.

(He may get rid of the one where Ethan and Isaac are doing the duck lips though, but not before showing his friends back home.)

They don't reach Beacon Hills before nightfall, only having a few stops for gas and lunch along the way. Stiles got a feeling that neither of them want to rush it, noticing how Derek drives slower than he usually would on the highway and orders coffee at the diner after they've finished their meal.

They still act like they would've done yesterday, even if it's very different with only the two of them. Now there's no Isaac to tease him for getting ketchup all over his hands, no Laura to excitedly tug at his arm when spotting a puppy, and no Ethan to roll his eyes at his movie references. There's only Derek reaching for his hand over the table to clean his fingertips with a napkin, Derek tapping Stiles' knee while driving to point at something in the distance, and Derek laughing smooth and easily at his jokes while flashing his pointy teeth that _still_ makes Stiles' stomach turn.

It's so strange to come back; to drive down the familiar streets back on Derek's bike and see the people who've been part of his everyday life since he was four. He can tell they don't recognize him, only looking up at hearing the bike approach with wondering stares. Stiles knows from experience that not many motorcycles pass through this town, and with the helmet on and with his arms around a guy like Derek there's no way anyone can suspect who he is.

He'd hoped his dad to still be at the station when they pull up to the house, so he could say goodbye to Derek in peace before dealing with his dad, but it seems his luck has come to an end. The sheriff's cruiser is in the driveway, and Derek has barely shut off the engine before the front door opens and Stiles' dad rushes toward them.

"Oh fuck," Stiles hisses when climbing off the bike and hurries to take off the helmet.

"You," his dad warns as he reaches them, pointing an accusing finger at Stiles. "and _you_ ," he adds, doing the same thing to Derek, "have some explaining to do."

"Dad, it's not his fault," Stiles rushes to explain. "He didn't do anything. I wanted to go, okay?"

His dad gives Derek a quick once-over still with the angry wrinkle in his forehead before doing the same to his son, frowning at the helmet in his hand. He looks confused, and Stiles really can't blame him, because this is probably the last thing he'd expect of himself, too.

"Scott told me as much," the sheriff eventually says, still sounding like he wants nothing more than to get his handcuffs and bring Derek in. "But that doesn't make it okay. What the hell were you thinking?"

Derek steps off the Harley too, looking like he wants to cut in but at the same time doesn't dare to. Stiles wishes he could wipe the guilty look off his face, but his dad is waiting for him to reply.

"I don't know?" Stiles says, making it sound more like a question than an answer. "Look, dad," he hurries to say when his dad looks like he's about to explode. "I'll tell you everything you want to know, I swear to god I will. And Derek is leaving," he adds, looking over to Derek with a lump in his throat. He's met with the same intense eyes he's been getting all week, and he has to look back to his dad in order to continue. "Just let me wave him off and then you can interrogate me all you want, okay?"

His dad looks hesitantly at him for a long moment, eyes flickering over to Derek before eventually letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Okay," he agrees, then points sternly at Derek. "But I still wanna know your name."

"What? Why do you— Oh my god," Stiles moans. "Dad, you are _not_ looking up his criminal record—"

"Derek Hale," Derek replies, meeting the sheriff's eyes steadily. "And I do have a record, but I'd rather tell you myself than have you look it up in your database."

Stiles feels a little baffled, because that's brand new information. Not that it exactly surprises him; he's just curious why it's never been brought up during the past two weeks. Derek offers him a quick apologetic glance before continuing to return the sheriff's stare.

"I'll look it up," his dad promises grimly, and Derek nods without another word. "You got five minutes."

The sheriff gives his son a last glare of warning before heading back to the house. Stiles lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, heart pounding in his chest. He doesn't dare look back to Derek until the front door closes, even though he knows his dad will be watching them from a window. Surprisingly; Derek _doesn't_ look like he's about to bolt.

"I'm sorry," Stiles still says, because that's not how he wanted to end this.

But Derek shrugs. "I expected no less," he says, letting his smile grow when looking at him again.

Stiles sighs, both happy and relieved that at least his dad didn't chase Derek off his property. He hasn't read all the texts yet, not wanting to bring himself down earlier than he had to. He wonders what Scott and the others told his dad about what happened last week, but figures he'll find out in a bit.

He hesitates for a moment before stepping closer to where Derek's still standing next to the parked bike. Derek watches him come closer with the small smile still resting on his lips, eyes dark under the streetlight above their heads. Stiles wonders just how many of his neighbors are watching them right now, but the thought doesn't make his as uncomfortable as it would've a couple days ago. By now he's used to people watching him and Derek; strangers as well as friends.

"So," he starts, a grin tugging on his lips. "Can I get your number?"

Derek huffs, teeth peeking through. "What took you so long?"

"Actually I've wanted to ask you that since the first time we met," Stiles confesses.

Something flickers across Derek's face. "And I wanted you to," he returns.

"In my defense I wasn't even sure you had a phone until two days ago," Stiles says, heart fluttering at the tone in his voice while hanging his helmet on the Harley's handle and digs for the phone in his pocket.

"Of course I have a phone," Derek snorts, accepting the phone from Stiles' hand and drops his gaze to the screen. "I'm not _that_ ancient."

Stiles smirks. "And just how ancient are you, exactly?"

It's crazy, but he still doesn't know Derek's age. He's played the guessing game a few times during the week but the wolves have been assholes and non-helping. He even tried snatching Derek's license out of his hand once, but without success. If instead getting kissed on the side of the road in the middle of the desert is considered unsuccessful, that is.

Derek hums, probably accepting that he can't escape it this time, but still finishes typing in his number and puts it back in Stiles' hand before looking up to lock gazes again.

"I'm 25," he answers, voice low as if making sure no one but Stiles hears it.

"Oh," Stiles says, neither surprised or the opposite. "Well. I think my dad can handle eight years."

"Let's hope so," Derek agrees. "This will get difficult if he'll hate me for kidnapping his son."

"You didn't kidnap me," Stiles protests. "You had my full consent and I was safely returned."

Derek nods, the corner of his mouth twitching even if there's something in his expression that makes Stiles' heart drop. He looks down between them, and Stiles can see his jaw clenching; wanting to reach out and run his thumb along it, but knows it won't do any good. None of them move for a long moment, and Stiles is just about to start worrying about their five minutes running out when Derek speaks.

"What if I wanted to do it again?" He murmurs, looking up. "And what if I wanted to keep you this time?"

And Stiles has been surprised a lot of times these past two weeks, but this time probably wins.

"What," he breathes. "What are you talking about?"

"Stiles," Derek murmurs, practically _purrs_ and it makes the butterflies in Stiles stomach twirl. "You just finished high school, and Scott said it himself last week: you can go anywhere you want from here. You could get into any university you want."

"I could," Stiles agrees absently, not really believing where this seems to be heading.

Derek shrugs, shyly dropping his gaze again. "Well, there are a couple good ones in New York."

Stiles' heart skips a long beat. "Oh my god," he blurts out. "Derek, are you—"

"You don't have to go back to school," Derek hurries to continue. "Not if you don't want to. You could just find a job. Maybe even at the shop. Laura might—"

"Derek—" Stiles tries again, but is cut off a second time.

"No, Stiles, listen to me," Derek begs, reaching down to take Stiles' hands. He still keeps his head down, but Stiles immediately falls silent. "You always say you wish you were as free as I am, right? That you could just take off and go wherever you want to, leaving everything behind." He squeezes Stiles' fingers, finally looking up to look him firmly in the eyes. "Don't you see that you _are_? You're just as wild and free as I am, and if you want to go on with your life somewhere else than here, you can."

Stiles swallows, overwhelmed. "And… you want me to do that in New York?"

"I want you to go where you want to go," Derek says seriously, "but I'd be lying if saying I didn't hope to convince you to come stay with me."

"Come stay with you?" Stiles repeats, voice flat in disbelief.

"I know," Derek says, ducking his head down and shying away again. "It's totally insane, and I _know_ that. But you don't have to decide yet, okay? I don't _want_ you to decide yet," he corrects himself. "I want you to take this summer to enjoy your freedom, to have fun, to do whatever you want. I want you to think real hard on where you wanna go from here, what you wanna do, and by the end of the summer—" Derek sighs. "If you still want to be with me by the end of the summer, I want you to give me a call."

Stiles needs a moment to process it all, mouth agape and eyes widely staring at Derek who slowly looks back up to meet his gaze.

"What if you don't want me anymore?"

It's not that he doesn't trust the way Derek looks at him now, but the rest of the summer is a long time, and Stiles knows from experience that a lot can happen in one single week. And Derek is— Well, _Derek_. Stiles has been with him long enough to notice the way people glance at him behind his back as well as openly flirts with him.

Derek actually looks _hurt_ at that. "You seriously still don't believe I want you?"

"I believe you want me right now," Stiles mumbles. "Not—" _Forever_.

One of the hands holding Stiles' lets go to instead reach up and cup his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. Derek's pupils dilate even further as he takes one final step forward, leaving next to no space left between them. Stiles inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, eyelids fluttering at the touch.

"Back on the campground," Derek rumbles, low enough for no one but Stiles' to hear, "I said I wanted more than one week with you. I said I didn't want to let you go yet." He pauses, jaw clenching in a way that Stiles knows means he's insecure. "I still don't."

Stiles grabs the corner of Derek's jacket, tugging ever so lightly to pull them just a little bit closer. He half expects his dad to come bursting out the door again, but nothing happens.

"Good," he says firmly. "Because I meant it when I said I'm in love with you, and this past week has hardly cured me." A smile stretches over Derek's lips, and Stiles returns it in triumph. "And there's no way in hell that'll pass over the summer, so just get that out of your head, alright?"

Derek exhales through his nose, looking about as relieved as Stiles feels.

"You realize we're crazy, right?" He sighs, eyebrow arching up.

"The fact that you just asked me to come live with you when we only met each other two weeks ago?" Stiles asks. "Yeah, you're definitely crazy."

Derek hums, finally leaning in to bump their noses together. "I like being crazy."

"Yeah, it looks good on you," Stiles grins, intertwining their fingers.

"You don't know better," Derek remarks while sliding his hand up to the base of Stiles' jaw.

"No," Stiles says, swallowing against the pressure of Derek's fingertips, "but I reckon I will."

He's just a little caught off guard by Derek capturing his mouth in a kiss, but happily sighs into it. Their lips remain sealed, and it doesn't last very long, but it's still enough to make Stiles sway a little once Derek eventually pulls back.

"But I still want you to give it some thought during the summer." A groan slips out of Stiles without his content. "Stiles, I'm serious."

"I know," he says honestly, because he _does_. He knows Derek only wants him to be sure, to give him time to think and not jump to conclusions too fast. Derek knows how impulsive he can be, and he keeps making sure Stiles doesn't do anything he'll regret; just like he's been doing all week.

"Fine," he sighs. "I'll wait. I'll do my homework and check out colleges. I'll have a crazy teenager summer. But I _will_ call you. Don't you dare think otherwise. Do you have any idea how much my old life sucks?"

"Mine does too," Derek says; eyes watching his own thumb caress Stiles' jaw.

Stiles feels like arguing, because he can't imagine the life Derek's been living with the gang till now sucks at all, but catches himself when realizing it's not about _them_. His own friends and family—the people he loves the most—are what makes his life worthwhile despite going through different shades of hell most of the time. There's still a lot he doesn't know about Derek, and some things may be better left unsaid, but he knows enough to understand what Derek means.

He wants to promise Derek that their new lives won't suck, because even if he really has no clue what his future will look like a few months from now, he can't imagine his life being miserable with Derek in it.

"I think your dad's watching us," Derek suddenly rumbles.

"He is," Stiles assures. "And you just kissed me while he was watching so I think we'll have to go Facebook official now."

Derek huffs. "I don't have Facebook."

"Great, now I owe Danny twenty bucks," Stiles complains, tugging at Derek's jacket for punishment. "Everyone's got a Facebook, Derek."

"You can do whatever you want on yours," he offers with a shrug.

"It's not really the same if you don't have an account," Stiles points out. "With, you know, a really good picture."

Derek grins, eyes turning thoughtful when biting his lip. "How about this," he starts, arching a suggestive eyebrow. It's a mean move. "I'll make an account if you come to New York."

Stiles narrows his eyes. " _When_ I come to New York," he corrects.

It's insane how the blinding smile stretching on Derek's lips and the wrinkles around his sparkling eyes makes Stiles' heart race.

"When you come to New York," he agrees.

"Deal," Stiles nods, satisfied. "Now why are we talking when we should be making out?"

Derek snorts a laugh, and Stiles can make out the faint blushing on his cheeks. "You're ridiculous."

"Finally you're catching up," Stiles smirks.

"No," Derek sighs, giving him the fondest look he can recall ever receiving. "I always knew you were ridiculous." Stiles scoffs, brushing off the heavy pull at his heart, but Derek remains serious, running his hand through his hair once before settling again. "But it's what I love about you."

A wide grin spreads across Stiles' face, and Derek returns it equally. It's the closest thing to anyone ever telling him _I love you_ —because Scott doesn't count—and something Stiles definitely hadn't expect to hear leaving Derek's lips.

The front door opens before he has the chance to reply.

"Alright, that's enough," the sheriff calls out, crossing his arms on the porch. "Stiles, get in here."

It's tempting to pull Derek back in when he hastily steps back, but he's pretty sure they shouldn't anger his dad more than necessary. He only sighs in protest as Derek's hand lets go of his, but is happy to catch the huff that sounds both soothing and amused.

Stiles takes his helmet and backs up when Derek mounts the bike and kicks off the engine, a little annoyed by the fact that his father doesn't retreat back into the house but is still watching them. Derek seems more eager to get out of here than he'd been five minutes ago, and Stiles fears he'll drive off without more touches being exchanged between them under the sheriff's observing eyes.

But then Derek sits back, feet steady on the ground and holding the bike upright, helmet in his hands as he gives Stiles an expectant look, and that's all Stiles needs before practically leaping himself at him.

He grabs the collar of Derek's jacket and hauls him in for a kiss, both of their mouths already open the moment they collide. Derek twitches as if he wants to reach up and touch Stiles' in return, but he'd probably lose balance of the bike if he did. All he does is moan softly into Stiles' mouth, making both of them shudder and the hair in the back of Stiles' neck stand.

They're definitely making a scene, and there _might_ be someone yelling his name, but right now he doesn't care.

Once they part, Stiles' eyes immediately falls to Derek's wet and swollen lips as his tongue darts over it, and it's only the sound of his father clearing his throat that keeps him from leaning in again. He doesn't pull back right away, however, knowing that whatever happens: this will be the last time they see each other in a long time. Derek is thinking of it too; Stiles can see it in his eyes when he looks up.

"This is the part where you ask me to call you," he offers with a smile, keeping his voice down.

Derek huffs, and it does something to the depths of Stiles' gut when realizing how familiar he is to that sound by now. Laura says it's frustrating but he disagrees. He's even learned how to tell the different kind of huffs apart, and this is the shy one.

"You better," Derek murmurs, tilting his head just enough to brush his nose on Stiles' cheek. "And I better go before my chances of getting along with your dad are doomed for all eternity."

Stiles chuckles, fingers grasping the leather of Derek's jacket one last time before letting go.

"I'll call you," he promises as he steps back. "Tomorrow."

Derek looks like he's about to protest, but ends up just grinning and shaking his head when dropping his head to put on the helmet.

"Wait," Stiles calls out, suddenly remembering. "Your hoodie."

Lydia had promised to dump his laundry at his place once she'd washed them and knowing her right she did it within the first three days already.

But Derek shakes his head. "Keep it," he says, smile visible despite the helmet. "Bring it to New York."

And that's the final proof of Derek understanding that it's not even a choice anymore, and Stiles can't contain his huge grin. His heart beats madly in his chest as Derek returns it, their eyes staying fixed on each other for another moment before a flick of Derek's wrist makes the Harley roar as it drives off, and Stiles' swallows hard when watching it drive down the street.

It takes a while before he looks back to where his dad is standing on the porch, and is surprised by the eased look he's met with. His dad doesn't look furious, watches him nearly curiously as he makes his way over the lawn and joins him on the porch. He stops, not sure where or how his dad wants to tell him how irresponsible he is. He waits for it: waits for questions and demand of answers. Unconsciously he starts to fumble with the helmet in his hand, and the only reason he notices is because his dad's gaze drops.

When he looks back up, Stiles meets his eyes steadily, but the _wonder_ in his dad's expression makes him frown. The sheriff looks as if he's about to start talking more than once, but it takes a long time before he seems to find his words.

"I barely recognize you, son," he finally sighs.

Stiles scoffs, trying to shrug it off. "Geez, dad, it's just a jacket."

"No," his dad says, shaking his head thoughtfully. "You look… taller."

Stiles doesn't know how to respond to that, but his heart still swells a little inside his chest. He offers a weak smile, and the next second he's being pulled into a big hug. He returns as good as he can, wrapping his free arm around his dad's back and ducks his head down to breathe in the familiar smell of the sheriff's jacket. It feels like he's been gone much longer than two weeks.

His dad looks relieved more than anything else once they pull back, but quickly puts his serious face back on. "So," he starts, pushing him inside the house. "Do you have something to tell me, son?"

"Yeah," Stiles nods. "I got a boyfriend."


	9. Epilogue

[Tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)  |  [Soundtrack](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/MAM-soundtrack)  |  [Art](http://zainfenrir.deviantart.com/gallery/45312005)

 

 

The sun blinds him the moment he shoves the doors open, but he's too busy taking a sharp intake of air to be bothered. Not that he feels like suffocating during his classes, but being cooped up for too long has never been his expertise. It's even worse when your last period of the day is two hours straight with Mr. Harris. Stiles loves most of his professors, he really does, but Harris is definitely out to get him. Besides, seeing the blazing sun high on the sky through the windows made it twice as hard to remain cool.

Pun intended.

He spots Ethan in the parking lot as soon as he glances over there, standing next to the only bike in sight. Stiles huffs to himself before jogging down the stairs and makes his way over there, already digging into the pockets of his jacket to pull out his gloves.

"You know what day it is?" He asks as soon as Ethan is within hearing range, unable to contain his grin.

"The day you finished your first year at college?" Ethan responds, lifting an unimpressed eyebrow. He snorts a laughter when Stiles sends him a glare. "I'm messing with you. Of course I know what day it is." A smirk stretches across his lips. "He does too."

Stiles smiles and huffs, walking up to the bike to pull the helmet out of his backpack. Ethan swings one leg over his Augusta, looking just as pleased like when doing it for the first time after it being repaired.

"I should really get my own ride," Stiles says when swinging the backpack back in place. "People think I have four different boyfriends picking me up in turns."

Ethan chuckles. "Only four?"

"Well, obviously they can't tell you and Aiden apart," Stiles explains.

"Maybe we should come pick you up together sometime," Ethan suggests, "make them think you scored twins."

"The fact that they think I've scored either of you is flattering enough, thank you," Stiles says.

Ethan laughs as he reaches for his helmet dangling on the review mirror, starting the engine as both of them put their helmets on. Stiles swiftly climbs on and sits behind Ethan, but can't hold back the small groan when the movement makes pain shoot up his side.

"Still not healed?" Ethan asks over his shoulder.

"Not quite," Stiles sighs, shifting in place a little. "Apparently I'm a slow healer."

"Just take it easy," Ethan advices before hitting the gas and they drive out of the parking lot.

 

 

 

 

The shop is surprisingly empty when they enter. It's only early afternoon and the place is usually swarming with customers dropping by on their lunch hour at this time. Isaac is talking to one of the four customers at the far back, gesturing toward the bike before them. He's got the jacket Erica gave him as a birthday present last year, stating it made him look older and therefore more presentable while at work. He'd been protesting at first but uses it pretty much like a uniform these days.

Laura is behind the counter with her eyes on the screen in front of her. As soon as she looks up at the sound of the door opening and spots Stiles and Ethan her face goes from professional receptionist to something that's just pure Laura.

"Stiles!" She exclaims. "My teach hero!"

Stiles huffs and arches an eyebrow at her, walking up to the counter and puts his helmet down to take off his gloves. Ethan walks over to Laura's side – as always ignoring her warnings about not doing it while the place is open – and pulls out a water bottle to down.

"What now?" Stiles asks with a smile.

"The screen," Laura says, pointing to the flat TV they have on the wall. "It's been muted all day. I can't figure out what's wrong with the sound."

"I don't think it needs the sound," Ethan comments.

Stiles tilts his head to look at the screen showing different clips of bikes being ridden on open roads. The driver is barely shown, hidden behind leather and a black helmet, but Stiles bets he'd be able to tell it's Derek even without him knowing beforehand. He remembers shooting it, remembers spending three days out of town with Derek, Boyd, Isaac and a camera. He'd even called Danny for some friendly advice, but the footage they got is stunning. Back home they had put it together to one video that ran smoothly and played all day long on the wall, showing off some of the bikes in their collection. They had debated on adding music to it but in the end they had kept it as it was, with only the low humming of the engine.

"This place is too quiet without the sound," Laura complained. "That's why we kept it in."

"Alright," Stiles says, following Ethan's example to walk around the counter to Laura's computer where the TV's remote was kept safe. "My guess is that someone's been messing with the audio source," he mumbles when walking up to stand right in front of the screen and opening the setting menu.

"Where's Derek?" Ethan asks as he's being shooed out of Laura's space.

"In the back," she replies simply. "I think he's with a customer."

Isaac's customer leaves a little while later, and Stiles recognizes him as their eyes lock and the guy gives him a small nod in greeting. Their regulars are practically as familiar with him as the rest of the gang by now, and it makes him feel all content and pleased with himself for some reason.

The sound of the thundering Ducati returns to the screen just as Isaac comes to stand next to Stiles, and it's probably a good thing that the place is cleared when Laura lets out a sound that she'll definitely be embarrassed about later.

"You're an angel," she sighs when he returns the remote, rolling his eyes at her.

"I say we hire him," Isaac says with a smirk, leaning over the counter on his elbows.

"Not your call," Laura reminds him. "I'm the boss."

"But you're not the Alpha," Ethan sneers. "Maybe we should hear what he thinks about it."

"While we're at it," Stiles says, "maybe we should ask him what he thinks about your definition of keeping the speed limit?"

Ethan sends him a glare, clearly betrayed. "You suck."

"He does," agrees a familiar voice behind their backs. "And he's quite good at it, too."

Stiles swirls around just in time to see Derek duck under the half-closed door to the garage, wearing his own uniform which is the white tank top that's stained with black fingerprints that won't go away in the washer. He's cleaning grease off his hands with an equally doomed towel before tossing it in the trash, wearing a sly grin on his face once Stiles' eyes make their way up there.

Derek catches him with ease as he jumps into his arms, hands circling around his thighs to hold him firmly in place while Stiles wraps both arms around Derek's neck. As much as he enjoys kissing Derek until neither of them can breathe, he loves Derek's hugs. Being held by those strong arms and wrapped up in Derek's warmth and scent calms him down like nothing else. He'd learned that first five months ago when receiving a call from Scott's mom back in Beacon Hills, telling him about his father's heart attack. He'd gotten his first panic attack in years, and only stopped hyperventilating when Derek pulled him back into his lap and carefully put a hand over Stiles' racing heart, ordering him to breathe with him. They hadn't moved for a whole hour, until Scott called him up to tell him that his dad was gonna be okay.

"Gross," Laura responds to Derek's comment. "You're still acting like cats in heat even after all these months."

"At least they don't make the same sound," Isaac points out.

"No, they're worse," Laura sighs, and Stiles can't see her expression while burying his face into Derek's neck but he can tell she's got that fond smile of hers. "Thank god you two got your own place. The only downside was taking Yoda with you."

The others keep talking, but Stiles isn't paying attention anymore. He rubs his nose against the side of Derek's neck, inhaling the scent of home and familiar. Derek nuzzles into him in return before putting him back down on the floor.

"Do you know what day it is?" Stiles asks, hands still on the back of Derek's head, grasping the hair there.

Derek hums, eyes fluttering shut at the touch as he smiles. "I do."

Maybe it's silly to get so worked up about it, because it's not their real anniversary. It's a few more days until they've been a couple for a year – and a few more weeks if going by Facebook. But this isn't about them being together or not. This is about the first time they met, because to Stiles: that's when his old life came to an end and his new one began.

"I have a surprise for you," Derek murmurs after just observing each other in a moment of silence.

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious?"

Derek nods, a private smile playing at his lips. He slides his hand down Stiles' arm to take his hand, intertwining their fingers and pulls him back to the garage door where he lets go of him again. Stiles arches an eyebrow in question as Derek steps up behind him, putting one of his big hands in front of Stiles' eyes.

"No peeking," he warns.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Stiles says. "How many late night rom-coms have you been watching?"

The huff next to his ear is definitely not a surprise.

He hears the creaking sound of the garage door being pulled open, and then Derek is nudging him forward with a lazy push of his hip. Stiles walks forward in the dark, only stopping when Derek behind him comes to a halt. Stiles can feel the breeze from the second garage door that's almost never closed during the days because Derek likes the fresh air as he works as well as showing off the bikes to people passing by on the street.

When Derek removes his hand, Stiles blinks once. Then stares. And stares some more. Then he turns around to stare at Derek.

"That's a bike," he says dumbly.

Derek ducks his head with a chuckle, then looks back up. "Correction: that's _your_ bike."

Stiles flails a little. "You got me _a bike?_ "

And it's not just any bike. It's one of the new Harley models, less muscular and more slender than Derek's night rod. It's more steel and silver than black, but that's what Stiles wants. In fact: he's pretty much had a crush on this very model ever since it first rolled into the store a few weeks ago. He's actually surprised he didn't notice it was missing from its corner in the shop.

Derek shrugs, as if it's not a big deal. "You wanted it," he says simply.

"Oh my god," Stiles says. "I have a ridiculously rich boyfriend who's turning me into a spoiled brat."

"Bullshit," Derek responds. "You've worked your ass off to get where you are. You deserve it. Besides, you'll pay for the gas yourself."

Stiles cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. "Oh really?"

Because he hadn't even allowed him to pay for himself when taking the bus to school in the winter. Derek had given _his dad_ gas money for driving all the way from Beacon Hills when Stiles moved up here.

"Well," Derek says, "maybe once when we've had a fight and your tank is empty?"

Stiles snorts, shaking his head and looks back to the bike. The sunlight makes the clean metal glisten and  Stiles thinks that he's never owned something so shiny. His Jeep back home had been a gift from his dad and the best thing he could afford his sixteen-year-old son, and despite what Jackson said about it, it had worked just fine to take Stiles where he wanted to go.

"I don't have a license," he points out after a while, turning back to look at Derek and finds him watching him already.

"We'll work on that during the summer," Derek promises. "I helped Isaac get his, didn't I?" Stiles hums, still at a loss for words. Derek's smile grows as he steps closer and gently shoves Stiles toward the bike. "Why don't you have a seat and see how it feels?"

He doesn't have to, because he's already sat on it inside the shop nearly every day after closing time. He knows _exactly_ how it feels. But now it's actually _his_ and that changes everything. Stiles nods to himself and steps up to at first slide his hand over the steering, wrapping his fingers around the handle experimentally. He bites his bottom lip at the dull pain when he swings a leg over the seat to straddle it, then leaning back to sit comfortably.

Derek gives him a moment to admire it by himself before he climbs on to sit behind him, hands resting on his ribs. Stiles chuckles lowly, loving the feeling of Derek's warmth against his back.

"I love it," he mumbles and sighs happily. "It's perfect." He looks over his shoulder to see Derek grin. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Derek says easily. "I'll miss having you back on the night rod though."

Stiles scoffs. "Like having me behind you, huh?"

"You know I do," Derek murmurs, leaning in to bump his nose against Stiles' ear.

And he does know that; knows exactly what it's like to hold Derek's hips in other scenarios than when sitting on the Harley. He also knows how to wreck him and turn Derek into a panting mess under him. He knows exactly where and how Derek wants him.

Stiles hisses in pain when they get off the bike again, unable to hold it in this time. Derek's eyes are immediately at him, looking confused at first before they travel down to his hip in realization. He takes one step to close the little distance between them, hands sliding down Stiles' arms.

"You still haven't let me see it," he says lowly.

"Because it's not healed yet," Stiles sighs, "and I know you won't be able to keep your hands off once you do."

Derek chuckles as if that's a fair point, but Stiles is already cringing out of his jacket. It's way too hot to be wearing leather, he just hadn't gotten a chance to take it off after arriving with Ethan. He winces a little, but gets the jacket off and hangs it on the backside of the bike – _his_ bike – before pulling up the hem of his t-shirt. The squared bandage is still in place, and that's as much as Derek has seen. Stiles tugs at one corner and peels it off enough to reveal the red and irritated skin underneath.

Stiles looks up to see Derek's eyes widen a little, and his hand looks like it's itching to reach out for a second but remains at his side. A smile stretches across Stiles' lips, because he can already tell Derek likes it. They know each other well enough to communicate without using words.

"Why claw marks?" Derek asks eventually, gaze lifting to meet Stiles' eyes.

"Because I live among wolves," he says with a smile, carefully putting the bandage back in place. "Because both you and Yoda like to leave marks on me and sometimes I wish they'd stick."

He's wanted a tattoo since he was fourteen, but it's only recently he overcome his fear of needles. It also helped to have Scott coming up for a visit last week and suggest they go to the studio together. When asked about what the two bands meant he wanted on his arm, Scott had shrugged and said it had something to do with Allison, but the way he'd glanced over to Isaac when saying it had Stiles suspecting that wasn't the whole truth. Isaac had asked for Scott's number before he left, and Scott's face had been beaming like the sun when giving it to him.

Stiles' motive was not as simple as Scott's, but he'd instantly fallen in love with it the moment he saw it. From a distance it really looks like an animal scratched him across the hip, but close-up you could tell there was too much black and the blood wasn't going anywhere.

Derek looks down again, despite the shirt keeping him from seeing it. One of his hands comes to rest on Stiles' other hip and slips under the hem, where the skin is still pale and smooth.

"Why three?" He asks after a while, which is a good question because a wolf has four claws.

Stiles comfortably rests his arm on Derek's shoulder. "I think you know the answer to that already."

"Tell me anyway," Derek asks softly, keeping his eyes fixed on his covered hip.

A couple walks by on the street outside the open garage door, and many months ago Stiles would've felt uncomfortable to be seen being so intimate with his boyfriend while people were watching, but now he doesn't care. Being with Derek in New York has taught him a lot of things, and he's pretty sure his dad would say he's grown even taller since he left Beacon Hills.

"Just like with your triskelion I wanted it to symbolize three forces," he begins, eyes drifting on Derek's chest. "Past, present, future," he explains more specifically. Three things that are essential to me and who I am." Derek looks back up now, but Stiles doesn't meet his eye yet. "My past is my mom. Yoda is my present who's been my anchor ever since I lost her, but he's becoming an old man and won't stick around much longer." He lets out a soft breath, looking up to give Derek a small smile. "But you will."

Derek smiles back at him, first with his mouth closed but then revealing teeth and sharp canines.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I will." He reaches up to cup Stiles' face in one hand, thumb stroking his cheekbone. "I love you."

Stiles sighs happily, feeling his heart skip a beat. "I know," he smiles. "You tell me that every day."

Derek frowns. "No, I don't."

"Not with words," Stiles shrugs, then curls his arm around the back of Derek's neck to pull him into a kiss.

It doesn't matter that it's something they do every day; it still makes Stiles' heart swell. Because he's so happy and living a life he never thought he could have. Derek tastes like the coffee Boyd always drops by the shop on his lunch, and smells like sweat and metal. He can't remember the last thing he ate but Derek doesn't seem to mind whatever taste is left in his mouth, sucking on his tongue with a low groan.

"Thank god it's summer break," Stiles mutters against Derek's lips. "I wanna be in this garage with you all summer."

Derek huffs. "Don't you wanna go home?" He asks between kisses.

"I _am_ home, idiot," Stiles huffs, grasping the hair in the back of Derek's neck.

And he's not even referring to New York, or their apartment. Home is with Derek; the man he wants to wake up next to every morning for the rest of his life. The man who accidentally drops ham under the table for Yoda while having breakfast. The man who plays way too loud music while working in the garage when he's alone but only smiles brightly when Stiles arrives and turns it down. The man who waits for him in the parking lot after school, seeming not to see anyone else in the whole world but Stiles as soon as they spot each other. The man who threads his fingers through Stiles' messy hair and says he's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Home isn't a place on the map; it's with the one person he knows he belongs with. Wherever they are.

"Back to Beacon Hills," Derek clarifies, smiling while placing pecks in the corner of Stiles' mouth. "See your dad." His hand on Stiles' hip tightens as he noses at Stiles' jaw. "Your friends."

"Yeah, but— That's a long trip just to get there," Stiles sighs, tilting his head to the side.

A quiet laugh slips out of Derek as he pulls back, and for a second Stiles is confused. Then the door to the shop is pulled open, revealing Laura, Isaac and the twins. Isaac isn't wearing the fancy shirt anymore, which is weird because they don't close until four hours from now. What's even more surprising is Laura who's not only abandoned the counter but got her helmet in her hand and a bright smile on her lips.

"You guys done?" Ethan asks teasingly. "Is your little moment over?"

The sound of a dog yelping out on the street makes Stiles turn his head in the other direction, spotting Yoda bouncing in his leash next to Erica and Boyd who look like they just came back from a run. They're smiling mysteriously at him, just like the others, and Stiles frowns.

"What is this?" He asks warily, stepping back from Derek to dart his eyes between them all.

Derek huffs, eyes sparkling when showing him a warm smile.

"You wanna go for a road trip?"

 

 

 

 

 

_\- the end -_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! Comments and/or kudos means the world <3
> 
>  **SEQUEL?**  
>  After many ifs and buts I've finally decided there will _not_ be a sequel to this fic. BUT I just recently started a tag on my Tumblr called [#eternalmam](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/tagged/eternalmam) where I'll post drabbles+manips set in this universe, because apparently I can't let this fic go. 
> 
> (And because a lot of people including myself wanted more biker!Stiles.)
> 
> Check it out!


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